Emotion Sickness
by Charlotte Grim
Summary: Some secrets shouldn’t be told when they’re too painful to handle. This is a story about life, love and everything in between. Eventual MR... kinda.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Rent or any of the characters or lyrics that I use unless otherwise stated.

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**Warnings:** Dark themes.

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**Notes:** All chapters after the prologue are Post Rent while the prologue itself is Pre Rent.

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Prologue: 

"Are you feeling better?" Collins asked, softly.

"Define better," Mark said as he pushed himself up, wincing.

"I can't believe he did that," Collins said, "It's not like him at all."

"It's the need for drugs. His cravings are clouding his judgment and just plain fucking with him."

"He won't remember this come morning, will he?"

"No."

"So you're not even going to ask for an apology?"

"Collins, some things are better kept quiet," the filmmaker's voice was shaky.

"Mark…"

"Listen, I can't make him apologize for something he doesn't even remember doing."

Collins sighed and shook his head, "Well, at least he was considerate."

"Yeah. At least he was," Mark answered as he pulled the sleeves of his sweatshirt lower.

And the silence that came was a welcomed one. The two jumped when a loud _bang_ was heard. Apparently, Roger had decided to try and get out of his room. Again.

"I barricaded it," Collins said, "Don't worry."

"Oh," came Mark's reply.

Collins shifted uncomfortably as the sounds from Roger's room persisted, "Listen, I need to tell you something."

"Go ahead."

Collins didn't know where to start. He actually felt bad for bringing good news to his friend, "I, uh, I got the MIT job. They said I can move on campus in two months."

"Collins, that's great!" Mark's face instantly lit up, even if the other man seemed uncertain, "Why aren't you happier? You've been wanting this job for a while now."

"Cause I'll be leaving you with that," Collins answered, jerking his hand in Roger's direction, "I don't want to do that to you. Not after this."

Mark simply smiled, pulling his knees to his chest as he did so, "Tom, it'll be in two months and in two months there can be great progress. You shouldn't worry about what'll go on here when you go to Boston."

"Cambridge, actually," Collins pointed out, causing Mark to laugh.

"It'll be fine," the filmmaker said, "So, don't worry about anything except looking forward to teaching at MIT."

Collins nodded and stepped forward to ruffle the younger man's hair.

All they could hope for was progress and normality and that was exactly what Collins hoped they would obtain by the time he had to leave.

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**Author's Notes:** Yes, MIT is actually in Cambridge, Massachusetts... I'm anal like that. I mean... I really hope you enjoyed this so far! XD. ahem Please, let me know what you think of this. This is my first real chaptered Rent fic and hopefully I won't step on any toes as I write this. Thanks so much for reading, please leave a review or crit me or anything really. Thanks again. 


	2. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Here's the first chapter. It's set Post Rent, just to clarify.

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**Chapter One:**

A flash of lightning lit up the sky. The sound of thunder roared and shook the loft.

Roger looked up at the sound of glass breaking.

"Shit!" Mark exclaimed from the kitchen area.

"Mark?" Roger asked as he set down his guitar, "Are you okay?"

"Y-yeah, I'm fine," the filmmaker answered. The sound of glass falling to the floor was heard again and followed by, "Damn it!"

Roger became a little more concerned as he made his way over to the kitchen. Mark was on his knees, holding his hand close to his chest. There was a cut on the palm of his hand, radiant red dripping onto the floor and glass.

"Shit, Mark," Roger spoke as he stepped over the broken glass.

Grabbing a clean towel, he kneeled down beside Mark and took the other man's hand into his. He winced at the sight of blood flowing freely from the cut before pressing the towel to it. Mark inhaled sharply.

"We should clean that out," Roger said, his focus on the filmmaker's hand and the way it was shaking.

"Yeah," came Mark's reply, but he sounded distant and far away.

"Are you okay?"

Another flash of lightning followed by the deafening roar of thunder.

Mark visibly jumped shaking so badly Roger could hardly keep his hand still.

"You're not alright," Roger stated.

"I-I'm fine, really," Mark said as he pulled his hand away from the musician.

"No, you're not," Roger retorted, "Look at you, you're shaking! What's wrong, Mark?"

There was a look in Mark's eyes that Roger couldn't define. It was as if something was hiding, lingering away from sight, ready to rear its ugly head at any moment. Kneeling there, looking at his best friend, he wondered how he could have possibly missed so much.

"Since when have you been afraid of thunder and lightning?" the musician asked.

"Always," Mark answered without hesitation.

"That's not right," Roger replied, "You never got like this when you first moved in."

The filmmaker gave a small, uncomfortable laugh, "You actually remembered?"

"I paid attention."

"I should go get cleaned up."

"Mark."

"Roger, please."

And the musician nodded, knowing that he wasn't going to win this time.

As Mark got up and headed towards the bathroom, Roger busied himself picking up the scattered pieces of glass. Carefully, he grabbed a towel and used it to sweep the floor of any remaining shards. With a sigh, he tied off the trash bag, just incase someone unknowingly knocks it over. Satisfied with his surroundings, Roger made his way to the bathroom.

"Mark, you doing alright?" the musician asked, stepping into the doorway.

"I'm fine," the filmmaker smiled, just as he finished putting a bandage on his hand. He wiggled his fingers in Roger's direction, "Good as new."

Roger rolled his eyes, "Yep, you're a big boy now."

"Shut up, Roger."

Thunder sounded through the air again and Roger caught Mark's uninjured hand gripping the sink so hard his knuckles had turned white.

"I'm going to get some sleep," Mark said, trying to sound as casual as possible as he quickly brushed past Roger, "I'll see you in the morning."

Before the bedroom door closed he heard the ever familiar, "Take your AZT."

* * *

With his back against his bedroom door, Mark slid to the ground and pulled his knees to his chest, trying to keep himself from shaking. He was starting to lose control over his breathing, as it had slowly become more and more erratic. He squeezed his eyes shut, his hands gripping the fabric of his sweater. He tried to get his mind back into the present, not allowing it to drift back to the past, where it didn't belong.

_Calm down_, he told himself, _just calm the fuck down, you idiot!_ But it was so hard to when the past kept creeping up on him. He hated storms like these more than he could ever imagine. Every time they hit, they cause him to remember things he wished had never occurred.

_That was then! This is now!_ Mark screamed in his head. _Leave the past behind!_ But the past kept haunting him. And he hated himself for wallowing and dwelling.

His breathing slowly became normal again as the thunder began to die away. His hands were still shaking, but he knew that he was getting better and that another storm wouldn't come for a while. Pushing himself up onto his feet, he made his way to the bed and laid down. Unconsciously, he rubbed his left wrist as he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

The next morning was as normal as any morning could be in the loft. Roger sat at the kitchen table, sipping coffee from a chipped cup and Mark was hunched over his film at the far side of the room, cutting and editing as if it was the only thing in the world that mattered.

Mark was the first to speak, as always, stretching to work out the kinks in his back, "Hey, Rog, I'm going to go out and film in the park, want to come along?"

"Can't Mimi's coming over in a few hours," the musician answered, taking another sip from his cup.

"Oh," Mark replied as he picked up his jacket and pulled it on. There was a pause, "You going to be out late tonight?"

"Mark, I'm always out late when I go out with Mimi."

"I know."

"Stop worrying, I can take care of myself. I'm a big boy, Mark."

"I know that, Roger." Winding his scarf around his neck, Mark grabbed his messenger bag and camera. Before heading out the door, he said, "Take your AZT and be careful tonight."

"Yes, mom," Roger retorted as the door shut.

In the newfound silence, Roger wished he had agreed to go out and film with Mark for a little while. He knew that they didn't have forever with each other, but it seemed so habitual to just say that he didn't feel like it or that he was busy.

"Shit," he breathed as he put down his cup and rubbed his hand over his face.

* * *

A walk towards the park didn't lead Mark anywhere near his destination. Instead, he took a less familiar path and ended up at the one place he always went to when he felt that he needed someone to listen. The cemetery.

His sneakers sank into the damp grass as he stepped closer to the one person he knew would always be willing to listen to him.

Holding his camera close to his chest, he took in a shaky breath before he spoke, "Hey, Angel. It's been a while."

A strange calm washed over him once those words left his lips, "I… I'm not doing that great today. I know I should keep my chin up and focus on my next film, but I don't think I can handle doing that today. All I could do all morning was looking through all my raw footage and pretend to be cutting frames so Roger wouldn't ask me any strange questions."

He reached out and touched the cool headstone, still wet from the rain, "I slipped up last night and he saw me freaking out over a thunderstorm. I don't know what to do when he asks me questions I can't, don't want to answer. But a part of me wants to tell him so he can understand why this happens every time a storm rolls around. I don't know how long I can keep this up before it all just comes out."

Mark gave a half-hearted laugh as he wiped away the tears that had started to fall, "Look at me, I can't even keep my composure anymore. Of all the things I cry over, I cry over him."

"I'm sorry for never shedding tears for you," the filmmaker whispered, "I just couldn't breakdown when everything was falling apart so fast. But you know that already. You always knew just what was going on with us. Maybe you still do."

Pulling himself together, Mark ran his fingers over the headstone once more, "Thanks for listening, Angel."

Taking a deep breath, Mark turned away from the grave, but didn't head out. Instead, he began speaking again, "I know that we always say 'no day but today', but sometimes, Angel, I feel like today just isn't the right time or place. I know I should tell him, so, so much… but you know me. I've never been good at expressing myself."

Feeling as if he had said enough, the filmmaker walked away, eyes dry and hand winding up his camera.

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**Author's Note:** I hope you guys enjoyed that chapter and that so far it's keeping you entertained. The next chapter should be up soon. Please leave a review! Thanks! 


	3. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Sorry guys, I forgot to add this note earlier. A question was asked before and yes, this takes place Post-Rent now. The incident that happened in the prologue carried over.

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**Chapter Two:**

"Are you okay?" Mimi asked as she moved her body closer to Roger's on the bed.

"Yeah," Roger answered, "Just thinking."

"You always have this look when something is bothering you," the dancer said, "You had that look just now."

Roger sighed and pulled Mimi flush against him, burying his face in her hair. And he hugs her tight because he didn't know what to say to her, how to tell her that last night he had a dream that was far too real to just be a dream. As he ran a hand down her back, he sighed again.

"It's really bothering you, isn't it?" Mimi asked, a look of concern etched on her delicate features.

"It was just a stupid dream," Roger answered, pressing a kiss to the younger girl's forehead, "Just a dream."

"I'm guessing you don't want to tell me what it's about?"

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay, baby. I understand."

And as they laid in bed together, Roger's mind kept wandering back to his dream, wandering back to the darkness and the image of the ones he loved leaving him, dying and simply just fading away. It scared him and he wondered if the feeling, of fear and emptiness that he had felt in the pit of his stomach, was the same feeling that Mark felt. Did Mark feel as bad as he did, knowing that more than half his friends would die before him?

"Let's go out, baby," Mimi whispered, pressing her lips to Roger's, "Maybe it'll make you feel better."

Reluctantly, the musician answered, "Yeah, let's get out of here."

* * *

Mark had seen Roger and Mimi leaving the building, but he didn't rush up to greet them. Instead he stood out of sight until they disappeared around the corner. With his camera clutched tightly in his hands, he made his way to the loft, up the stairs, and home. He let the door slide shut as he set his camera and bag down. 

Without removing his jacket or scarf, he sat down on the worn sofa, staring at the door. He didn't know what to do in the quiet loft. He really hadn't shot any footage and he didn't feel like editing any of the film that he had developed recently. The fact that he didn't feel like working scared him.

The phone ringing caused him to jump in his seat.

The answering machine clicked on, "Speak!"

_Shit, I'm driving myself crazy_, Mark thought as he made himself relax, his heart still pounding.

"Hey, bitches!" Collins' unmistakable voice came through loud and clear, "Calling to see if you guys want to go to the Life. Pick up the phone if you're there, Mark."

The filmmaker got up and quickly picked up the phone, knowing fully well what the professor wanted to talk to him about, "Hey, Collins."

"Hey, man, how you doing?"

"I'm… I don't know," Mark answered truthfully, "Just strange."

"That was a hell of a storm last night. Is Roger there?"

"Yeah, I know and no, he's not."

"Everything okay?"

"I broke my favorite mug, if that's what you're asking."

"Want me to get you a new one?"

"If you can somehow find one exactly like it, then be my guest."

"So, you want to take up my offer for the Life? My treat."

"Been rewiring ATMs again?"

"I actually have a job, you know."

"Then I'll take you up on your offer. Half an hour?"

"Sure thing."

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, Mark and Collins sat in a booth at the life. The filmmaker was absentmindedly stirring the tea he had ordered while the professor sipped his coffee. 

"So, what's bothering you?" Collins finally asked as he sat back in his seat, "And don't tell me nothing cause you've been staring at that cup since we got here."

Mark sighed as he brought the cup to his lips. Taking a sip, he slowly spoke, almost as if he were searching for the words, "Roger was there last night. He started asking questions."

The professor instantly sat up straighter, "Did you say…"

"No, I avoided the questions," Mark answered, "But I know he'll keep asking me, eventually anyway."

"So, what are you going to do about it?"

"I have no idea. I can't explain it to him without giving myself away and that's not what I want to do. Not now, not when everything is finally right again for him."

"You can't always spare his feelings, Mark."

"I know. I just… I just think it's too much."

"You don't have to do anything you don't feel like doing."

"I know that."

And as Mark sipped his tea and Collins drank his coffee, they fell into a somber silence.

"Baby, look over there!" a familiar voice called out, causing Mark and Collins to look in the direction of the door.

There stood Mimi and Roger. The dancer was smiling and waving, while Roger looked slightly indifferent. The two made their way over the already occupied booth. Collins gave a laugh as he scooted over to make room for their incoming friends.

"What are you guys doing here?" Mimi asked as she pushed Roger into the seat next to Mark, herself sitting down beside Collins.

"Meems, we're always here," Mark said with a smile.

"Yeah, but you usually don't order anything," the dancer smirked.

"Collins said he was going to treat me, so I took him up on his offer," Mark answered as he took a sip from his cup.

"You mean like a date?"

Mark nearly choked on his tea, causing Collins to laugh deeply and loudly. Even Roger couldn't help but smile at the expression on the filmmaker's face. Mark coughed as he put down his cup, wiping away the liquid that had dripped down his chin. He was blushing so much that it was hard for his friends not to continue laughing.

"That wasn't funny," Mark said, clearing his throat.

"The look on your face was priceless," Mimi smiled, her eyes dancing mischievously.

The filmmaker rolled his eyes, "I can see why Roger picked you."

"Aw, Mark, you don't have to be jealous. I know how to share."

Mark looked to Collins for a little assistance, but the professor just held up his hands, knowing he wouldn't be able to do anything. He gave Roger a nudge, hoping to escape from the booth before any of them could embarrass him further. No such luck.

"This isn't funny," Mark said as he sank down as far as he could in his seat. It was one of those moments he wished he could reach into his bag and pull out his camera so he wouldn't have to look at the goofy expressions on his friends' faces.

"Come on, let's order some food!" Mimi exclaimed, "How long has it been since we all sat down together and eaten?"

"Probably a few weeks," Collins answered.

"I don't really feel like eating anything," Mark interjected, again trying to get Roger to move so that he could get out, "Can I get out?"

"You're eating," Roger said as more of a command than a statement.

"I'm fine, Rog."

"You didn't eat last night or this morning, don't think I didn't pay attention."

"Roger…"

"Mark."

"I'm not getting into this with you," Mark said, with an exasperated sigh, "Now can you please move so I can get out?"

"I just think--"

"Roger," this time it was Collins' voice, gentle yet stern.

Hesitantly, Roger scooted out of his seat so Mark could get by. The filmmaker thanked him with a grateful smile, but the musician couldn't help but feel as if he should have held his friend back.

"Look, if you really want me to eat, why don't you bring some food home?" Mark suggested as he pulled his camera from his bag, "That way I can have something to eat when I get home later, at least."

"Okay, but you had better eat it," Roger said.

Mark smiled, "I promise. I'll catch you guys later."

Roger watched as the filmmaker walked out of the restaurant, then turned to the professor, "Why'd you just let him go?"

"You can't make him do what he doesn't want to do," Collins answered, "He's a grown man, Roger. I know he's your best friend and you want to be there for him every once in a while, but you have to respect his wishes as well."

"Oh," the musician suddenly found great interest in the menu, even thought he wasn't quite paying attention to it.

Something bothered Roger and he knew that some small part of it had to do with him. He knew, but couldn't bring himself to voice it. _Maybe I should talk to Mark tonight_, he thought as he set down his menu, already knowing that he would order what he always got.

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**Author's Note:** Please leave a review if you enjoyed or found a flaw! Thank you ) 


	4. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **Thank you so much to the reviewers for the last chapter. They're really great motivation for me to keep writing. Thanks to those that are reading as well. I see you! Actually, no I'm just trying to freak you out.

I wanted to make a note of the OOCness that might occur or people might bring up. To me, Mark has always been a slightly awkward person. He isn't so much shy as awkward in social situations and once he's comfortable he eases in as easy as anything else. That is how I see Mark. I don't see him as so shy that he blushes at everything and so out of his head that he can't for real sentences when around people. So, yeah... you'll understand why I said this once you start reading.

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**Chapter Three:**

Mark cleared his throat as he wound up his camera. He felt the undeniable tingling of a sore throat coming on and knew that if he didn't take care of it, which he probably wouldn't be able to, it'd grow to become a full-blown cold. Sighing, he hoped he wasn't catching the flu. He knew it would cause a lot of unwanted complications what with Roger and Mimi being HIV positive and Collins with AIDS.

With steady hands, he focused his camera on a group of teenagers sitting on a bench in front of a building. Many of them were dressed like punks, making the filmmaker think of Roger's days back on stage. He remembered so well the black, black, black kohl eyeliner and fingernails. He remembered the bleach blonde hair, sometimes tinted with the most random colors he could imagine. Most of all, he remembered that carefree smile. A part of him almost missed that Roger, but then he would remember that it lead to drugs, April, and eventually withdrawal.

Shaking the thoughts from his head, Mark began to record. A teenaged boy in a leather jacket was smoking, talking animatedly with his hands as his friends watched. There were four boys and two girls, each with their hair colored differently and wildly. The boy with the cigarette exaggerated his movements so much that he nearly fell off his seat causing the entire group to laugh loudly. Mark smiled as he lowered his camera.

He watched as one of the girls pointed in his direction. The others slowly looked his way, but non-threateningly. In fact, the boy that had nearly fallen off the bench waved for him to move closer. Slowly, he made his way over, not too sure how to react. _They're just kids_, Mark told himself.

"That's a nice camera," a boy with blue hair said, "You a director?"

"Filmmaker," Mark answered, feeling extremely out of place.

"Were you shooting us?" the boy with the cigarette asked, grinning, obviously a person that was very fond of attention.

"I was just looking for my next big idea," the filmmaker answered, "Thought maybe you guys could inspire me."

One of the girls laughed, "Jason is all the inspiration you'll ever need. He's fucking crazy."

"Yeah, he's got some stories to tell," the boy with blue hair added, "Give him the spotlight and he won't be able to shut up for weeks on end."

"Yeah, like anyone would want to shoot a movie about that fag," one of the other boys said with a laugh.

"I shoot documentaries," Mark explained, still feeling a little awkward, "Maybe you guys can enlighten me about your lives?"

"Our lives are fucked," the second girl with black and red hair said, "We're the kids teachers tell have no futures and the kids that parents hate cause we're not normal. You really think we can give you material, mister?"

Mark shook his head and smiled, "My teachers told me I had no future as a filmmaker and my parents hated me for not wanting to be a doctor or lawyer. Now I'm in New York, trying to get by on a couple of bucks a month. Think I can't relate?"

"Don't we scare you?" the boy named Jason asked, taking a drag from his cigarette, "Us and our teenaged rebellion?"

"I live with a musician, you tell me if I should be scared."

Jason smiled and flicked his cigarette to the ground, "So, what do you want to know, mister?"

"Mark," the filmmaker said, "That's my name."

"So, Mark, what can we do for you?" Jason asked, as laid back as any kid could pretend to be.

And an idea began brewing in Mark's head as he lifted his camera and started recording, "So, tell me about you, your lives and who you are. What does the next generation have in store for this world?"

* * *

It was late when Mark walked into the loft. Roger noticed because Mimi had left four hours ago to get some sleep so she could get up early and head to an audition. That and he had been staring at the cheap plastic watch he had picked up off the streets, the minutes just ticking by, reminding him that he wasn't able to write a single song in all those hours.

"Hey," Mark greeted quietly as he set down his camera and bag, "What are you doing over there?"

"Just trying to write," Roger answered, not quite ready to admit that he had started to worry about his best friend.

"Is the power out again?" the filmmaker asked, flicking a switch. The lights came on, "Well, that answers my question."

"I just wanted to be in the dark for a while," the musician spoke, not sure why he felt the need to justify his actions.

"I know. It helps you think. Right?"

"Yeah. Of course you'd remember that."

"I'm your best friend, of course I'll remember."

"Then why can't I remember every detail about you?" Roger asked, a strange sense of guilt coming to the surface.

"Cause you don't have to," Mark answered with a smile, "You're Roger. The big rock star."

"How does that make any sense? I can't remember your favorite color or favorite tea. I can't even remember what your favorite holiday is and I've known you for years."

The filmmaker gave a small laugh, "Of course you know. My favorite color's blue. I like tea no matter what and my favorite holiday is Christmas."

"You're Jewish, Mark."

"See, you do know something about me."

Roger took a deep breath and set down his guitar. Getting to his feet, all he could do was look at Mark, looking at him, half calm and half anxious. He knew under normal circumstances he wouldn't be doing this, but the night before had really bothered him. He actually lost sleep over it.

"What happened, Mark?" Roger asked.

The filmmaker's brows furrowed in confusion, "What do you mean?"

"What made you so afraid of that storm?" the musician pressed on, "When you first moved in, we used to watch those storms together and you'd talk about how you loved lightning. What happened?"

And Roger watched as Mark struggled to find words, to form a coherent sentence. He watched as Mark's strong resolve start to crack, his façade wearing away from a few simple questions.

"I-I don't want to talk about it, Roger," Mark finally said, moving to get out of the livingroom and into his own room.

Roger crossed the room in an instant, reaching out and taking hold of Mark's arm before he could get away. And Mark did the most unexpected thing Roger could imagine. The smaller man pulled out of his grip and shoved him, hard enough to make him stumble backwards a few steps.

"Don't!" Mark shouted, his entire body, always so guarded, reflected conflicted within himself, "Just don't!"

"I don't understand," the musician tried, not knowing what else to do. He had never seen his friend like this. Mark was always the one that was composed.

"There's nothing to understand! Just fucking leave it alone!"

A deafening silence fell over the loft.

Then, suddenly all the anger and conflict drained from Mark's face and the filmmaker was shaking his head. Roger saw those eyes trained on him, but he couldn't understand what it meant.

"I'm sorry," Mark said, softly, "I'm sorry for yelling. I'm sorry."

And it seemed that Mark couldn't stop apologizing. Roger was by his friend's side in an instant, catching the other man as he crumbled and fell to his knees.

"Just, please, stop asking…" Mark whispered, his voice shaky.

"Why can't you tell me?" Roger asked.

"I'm not ready to do this, Rog. Not to you."

Then Mark was pushing Roger away again. This time, the musician stayed put and watched as his friend walked into his room and shut the door.

He wished he knew what to do in moments like this.

* * *

When Mark woke up in the morning, his throat was burning and his head ached. _Oh great_, he thought to himself as he threw back his blanket. _This is exactly what I needed._

He needed to film. The kids he had met the day before said they hung out at the same place almost every day after school and on the weekends. Then he also remembered that he had to face Roger when he walked out that door. That fact alone made him not want to get dressed at all.

He hated weeks like these, ones where he was so out of his element that he couldn't keep himself focused on his work or keeping his composure. He was supposed to be the strong one, the wall that everyone could depend on. Then one stupid storm brings it all down and he has to spend days putting himself back together, at least enough so that he could face everything without lashing out or coming undone at any moments notice.

Changing out of his sleep clothes, Mark pulled on his boots and picked up his scarf and jacket before opening his bedroom door. Walking out, he saw that Roger's bedroom door was closed. With a sigh of relief, he walked into the bathroom. He dropped the items in his hands onto the floor as he closed the door. Turning on the water, he let it run until it was lukewarm. Pulling up the sleeves of his sweater, he proceeded to wash his face and then brush his teeth.

Once he was done, he dried off his face and hands, pausing slightly to look at his left arm. Shaking his head, he pulled his sleeves back down, gathered his things and walked out of the bathroom.

* * *

"It's freezing out. How are you guys still sitting here smoking?" Mark asked as he wound up his camera.

"Well," Jason answered with a smile, "There's nowhere else for us to go. Besides, you're going to make us famous!"

"Or something," one of the girls piped up with a laugh.

Over the past few hours Mark had learned that the normal group that gathered was only five teens, three boys and two girls. The boys were named Jason, who was established to be the leader of the pack, Ryan, and Adrian. The girls were Jess and Kim. It surprised him how much these kids reminded him of his friends, his extended family.

"You said you lived with a musician?" Adrian, the blue haired boy from the day before, asked. He had a guitar in a case resting against the bench and he was constantly fiddling with a guitar pick.

"Yeah, why?" Mark asked.

"Well, how's he do it?" the boy asked, "I mean, he's probably gotten gigs before and stuff, right?"

"Well, yeah, but it's been a while for him," Mark answered, trying to stifle a cough. The act in itself caused him to go into a coughing fit.

"Hey, man, you alright?" Jason asked, sitting up straighter in his seat.

The filmmaker nodded, "I'm fine."

"Man, you're talking about us being out in the cold and you're the one that's getting sick," Jess rolled her eyes, "Maybe you should be the one that's more concerned about the cold."

Ryan laughed, "Hey, Mark, you going to let her talk to you like that?"

"Shut up, Ryan!" Jess retorted, "I was just saying!"

Mark couldn't help but laugh at the way these teenagers acted.

* * *

"Hey, baby," Mimi said softly as she walked into Roger's room, "I thought I'd come see if you were up. You haven't called me all day."

Roger gave a sigh, pulling his blanket over his head. He didn't feel like talking or interacting with anyone.

"Roger?"

"Go away."

"What's wrong?"

"I want to be alone."

"Baby…" but Mimi already knew that there was no use in arguing when Roger was upset, "I'll come see you later then."

The dancer couldn't stop the hurt that welled up inside of her as she walked out of Roger's room and out of the loft. She couldn't stop the tears from forming in her eyes as she stood in the stairwell, not knowing what to do with herself. She had given up her vices for Roger and all she could think about was going back at times like these. She just wanted her boyfriend to be responsive, to love her.

Since the day she came back, Roger had told her that he loved her a grand total of four times. She knew that he loved her, but she wanted him to say it rather than let it be something unspoken and mutual. She needed that sort of assurance. Didn't Roger learn anything from the past Christmas?

But she couldn't blame him for being upset. She knew that the only other person who could get him this upset, besides her, was Mark and she was determined to find out just what the hell was going on. She needed to know just what the filmmaker did to make her boyfriend so withdrawn lately, especially from her. _He had better not have done anything stupid,_ Mimi thought as she decended the stairs.

* * *

**Author's Note:** And that's the end of that chapter. I don't know if I've been leaving cliffhangers or not, but it seems I am. I'm sorry. It really wasn't intentional at all. I swear. Thank you guys so much for reading and please be so kind as to leave a review. Thank you!


	5. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** Thank you so much for all your wonderful reviews guys! It really spurred me on to get this update out faster and I did! At least two days less lag than before. I kid you not. I really appreciate the imput. Thank you guys! Hope you all enjoy this next bit.

* * *

**Chapter Four:**

"You've reached Maureen Johnson and Joanne Jefferson. We're not in right now, so please leave your name, number, and a short message and we'll get back to you as soon as possible."

Mark sighed, in the back of his mind thanking god that Joanne was the one that recorded that message, "Hey guys, it's Mark."

He shifted from foot to foot in the phone booth as he tried to find the right way of putting his message, especially since he didn't want to seem desperate for their help. But in this situation, he needed them. It was becoming more and more apparent that he was getting sick. He couldn't walk straight, he'd been dry heaving for the past half hour, and Adrian even became concern enough to feel his forehead. Sure enough, he felt warm.

"Listen, I need a favor from you guys," he said as he cleared is throat, "I'm pretty sure I'm coming down with something and I need a place to stay for the next few days so I don't spread it to anyone, especially Roger and Mimi. Collins has his own place, but I can't put him at risk. Just call me at the loft and tell me if it's okay or not. Thanks. Bye."

He put down the receiver and walked out of the phone booth, where Jason was waiting for him, smoking a cigarette.

"You're still here?" Mark asked.

"I thought I'd wait for you and see if you need some help walking home," Jason answered with a shrug, "Adrian was right, you really don't look like you can make it on your own."

"I don't think Adrian has any say in how I look."

"He's just worried, man." Jason said as he flicked the ash from his cigarette, "He lost his baby brother to pneumonia two years ago. He was a mess and now at even the smallest sign of a cold he freaks out and gets all motherly."

"He didn't say anything about that," Mark commented, "Said he was an only child."

"He is now."

"How old was his brother?"

"The kid was only eight."

"Wow, h-how did he deal with that?"

"The best he could. Made a collage of his brother and hung it in his room, visits his grave on the holidays, and just keeps his memory alive."

Mark ran a hand through his hair and gave a tired sigh, "So, are you my escort? Or do you just want more camera time?"

Jason laughed and gave a big smile, "A little of both."

The filmmaker shook his head and took a step, the second he did he felt the ground beneath him shift. Then he was leaned up against the phone booth, out of breath and shaky on his feet.

"Told you he was right," Jason said as he took hold of Mark's arm.

"This is great, real great," Mark said sarcastically, "I've got a seventeen year old leading me home cause I can hardly do it myself. Real becoming."

As they walked, Jason took the liberty to talk about his life and school, about how him and Adrian were best friends and how he wished that the world would just understand that things were changing. Mark couldn't help but smile, hoping that the kid would talk about all that for the camera as well. He had to admit, the camera loved Jason. The teen with black eyeliner, dyed black hair, and green eyes. He reminded the filmmaker so much of Roger in appearance and sometimes in personality that it was almost scary.

"Jason, I can take care of myself from here," Mark said as they neared the loft. It was only a block or two away and he already felt bad for allowing the kid to follow him this far.

"If you say so," Jason replied. He shifted nervously where he stood and began to speak again, "Look, I know you're the director here, but you should open up to us too. It's only fair."

"If you guys want to know about me, all you have to do is ask," Mark smiled, "Okay?"

The boy nodded, "Okay. So, when are you going to shoot us again?"

"Probably in a few days. I want to get rid of this bug and I don't want any of you getting sick."

"Hey, it's a good excuse for us to call in sick to school," Jason smirked. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. He quickly scribbled on it and handed it to the filmmaker, "Give me a call when you want to film again and I'll get everyone together. Have to keep in touch with your subjects, right?"

"Right. You're a smart kid."

"Obviously."

"Alright, I have to go and you have to go home. I'll talk to you in a few days."

"Later, Mark."

The filmmaker watched as the teenager ran down the street and then disappeared around the corner before heading toward the loft himself.

* * *

Mimi was sitting in the stairwell when Mark appeared. She set her jaw and pulled herself up, making sure that Mark would know she meant business when they encountered each other.

"Mimi?" Mark asked, stopping a few steps below her, "What are you doing out here?"

"I need to talk to you," the dancer answered.

"I don't think that's a good idea. I'm getting sick and--"

"Now." The way that one simple word was said left no room for argument.

A little taken aback, Mark nodded. Mimi shook her head and led the filmmaker down the stairs into her loft. Once they were both inside, she shut the door and reeled on the older man, anger and frustration evident in her eyes.

"What's going on, Mark?" There was an edge in Mimi's voice that made Mark feel slightly uncomfortable.

"What do you mean?"

"Roger's been acting weird for the past two days and I know it wasn't cause of me! What the hell did you do to him?"

"What do you mean what I did? I didn't do anything," Mark argued, holding his hands up defensively.

"He doesn't just end up lying in bed all day for no reason!"

"He's been in bed all day?" concern was evident in the filmmaker's voice.

"Yes and I know it wasn't my fault! You're the only other person that can make him get like this, so you had better start explaining cause I will not hesitate to smack some sense into you!"

"Mimi, calm down…"

Mimi couldn't understand how Mark could be staying so calm. Sure, he showed genuine concern, but this was Roger they were talking about. Mark was always fussing over Roger, and today Roger didn't even complain about Mark bugging him to take his AZT, which was everyday.

"Look, this isn't something I want to talk about," Mark started, "And it's just not a good time. I should go, I don't want to get you sick."

Mimi glared at the filmmaker for a long moment before crossing the room and slapping the blonde so hard the**_ smack _**that emitted from flesh meeting flesh practically resounded through the loft. She wanted to smirk when Mark cursed under his breath, hand against his already reddening cheek.

"Is all that you can think about?" Mimi asked, her anger just coming forward. Never had she been so angry with Mark before, "You? Is that all you can focus on?"

The silence that she was greeted with was tense and uncomfortable.

"Well, say something!"

The words that came out of Mark's mouth shocked her, "Maybe for once, I just want to think about myself for a little while. Maybe for once, I don't want to be the one holding us together. Maybe I just want to hold myself together. Have you ever thought of that, Mimi?"

It wasn't the way that he looked that made her feel guilty about her actions; it was the way he spoke. He didn't raise his voice, yell, scream, or rant. Instead, he calmly spoke in a voice so tired and defeated that she couldn't imagine how she was possibly angry with him in the first place. Then she remembered Roger and the way he was acting. She remembered her boyfriend who decided to stay in all day, like he did before his life started getting better and the anger flared up again.

"What's so damn hard about your life?" Mimi asked, unable to keep her cool, "You were never a drug addict, you didn't have to go through withdrawal, and you never got HIV or AIDS. Tell me what the hell was so damn bad and important that you had to upset Roger like that! You're going through the same thing we are! You're fucking broke and trying to make a life doing something you love with little to no success! I get it! But you didn't have to take it out on him!"

"I never took anything out on him!" And it was Mark's turn to raise his voice, "You don't know anything, Mimi, so don't judge my life!"

Those last words were said so loudly that the dancer had to take a step back. Then there was that guilt again, rising up as Mark started to have a coughing fit, barely able to catch his breath. And she didn't know if she should step forward and help him or not in their current predicament.

"Mark?" she became more concerned when the coughing just didn't seem to stop. She took a step closer.

"Stop…" Mark gasped, holding up one hand to keep her at a distance, "I don't want--you getting sick."

"Mark, I--"

"I should--leave," the filmmaker breathed, walking toward the loft door and pulling it open.

"Mark!" Mimi called.

But he was already headed out the door and up the stairs.

"I'm sorry…"

* * *

"Hey Pookie! I just got your message and I'm sure Joanne won't mind you staying here. We have a guest room after all. As long as you don't interrupt us during sex, I'm sure you can stay as long as you need!"

Mark cringed. Leave it up to Maureen to say a little too much for comfort.

Clearing his throat and rubbing his sore cheek, he made his way to his room where he pulled out a duffle bag and started to pack some clothes for the next few days. A soft knock at his door made him look up.

"Where are you going?" Roger asked, looking confused and uncertain.

"Joanne and Maureen's," the filmmaker answered, "I'm sick and I don't want to spread it to you or Mimi."

"Oh," the musician said, not moving from his place at the doorway, "Listen. I'm sorry about last night. I shouldn't have pushed."

"No, Rog, it's okay."

"Just promise you'll tell me when you're ready. I can't stand just standing by while you deal with this alone, Mark. You've been there for me through every thing and I can't even calm you down."

Mark sighed, "I'll tell you, soon. I promise, but you have to let me get through this on my own as well. It's hard because I know it'll affect you."

"Think about yourself for once, Mark."

The filmmaker nodded as he zipped up his bag and crossed the room to leave. Roger's gentle hand on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks. He dared not breathe too deep because he was scared he would give Roger something.

"What happened to your face?" Roger asked, looking concerned.

"It's nothing," Mark answered, "I should go. If I stay any longer…"

Roger nodded as he walked out of the doorway and towards the front door. He pulled it open and Mark smiled gratefully.

"Take care of yourself, okay? I know Maureen can be a hassle," Roger said with a small smile.

"I'll get better in no time. Don't stay cooped up in here all day and take your AZT," Mark answered in kind as he stepped out the door, "I'll see you in a few days."

Then Roger did the most unexpected thing Mark could have imagined, he leaned forward and placed a kiss on the smaller man's forehead. The door slid close and Mark was left standing in the stairwell for a few seconds, replaying the moment in his head. Wondering if it had really happened. He touched his forehead where Roger's lips just were and shook his head. _It's normal_, he told himself, _my mom always did that to me when I was younger and got sick._

* * *

Inside the loft, Roger was standing, his back against the door, wondering what had caused him to kiss Mark. He shook it off. _It must have just been reflex_, he thought as he walked over to the couch and picked up his guitar, _my mom always kissed my forehead when I was sick._

He settled down in his seat and for the first time in days found words coming to him.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I hope you guys enjoyed that! Hopefully the next chapter will be longer and reveal more. I'm sorry if it seems like I'm dragging it out, but it helps the story, Believe me. Please leave a review and thank you guys for reading!


	6. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Thank you guys so, so, so much for the wonderful reviews. I'm glad you guys like how I'm presenting the characters. I really didn't want to get stoned to death... not that I'm accusing any of you of violence... But yes! Here's the next chapter! Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Five:**

"Mark?" Joanne asked as she stepped into the guest room where the filmmaker was unpacking, "How you feeling?"

"Like shit," Mark answered with a smile as he kicked his duffle bag underneath the bed, "Thanks for letting me stay here, by the way. I don't know how to--"

The lawyer held up her hand to silence him, "We're friends. I'm always willing to help out."

"Thanks."

Joanne walked over to the bed and sat down, surveying the things that Mark had brought along. His camera, a few rolls of unopened film, clothes, and toiletries. Something confused her as she reached out and touched one of the shirts on the bed.

"Don't you own any short sleeved shirts?" she asked, picking up the plain blue shirt, "Not to pry, but sleeping in a long sleeve shirt can't be comfortable."

"I-I didn't think about bringing any. Guess I didn't plan ahead."

She sighed and carefully folded the shirt up, "Listen, Mark, I know it's none of my business, but there has to be more of a reason you're here than the fact that you're getting sick." The look of surprise and confusion on the filmmaker's face was all she needed to continue, "Look, I've seen you sick before. It was only once, but that gave me a pretty good idea of what you did when you did get sick. You were in your room for an entire week and then you completely cleaned everything afterward. But for some reason, you're here."

"I can leave if you want me to…"

"That's not what I meant, Mark. Not at all."

"Joanne, I--"

"You don't have to explain anything to me, but it would be nice if you told us about what's going on with you once in a while. You're always holding that camera and I know that you just disappear into the background sometimes."

"That's not true."

"Listen, Mark. I know you can give us so much more. No one who can tango that well and dance on tabletops should keep themselves hidden away." Mark opened his mouth to speak, but the lawyer stopped him, "I know it sounds weird, but I've known you for almost two years and I still don't know a lot about you."

"So, what should I do?"

"Open up," Joanne smiled, "Especially when you're here with me and Maureen. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Alright. I got some take out on the way home, so help yourself if you want some."

"Thanks."

With that Joanne got up and walked out of the room. Maureen was waiting for her down the hall. The diva pulled her close and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"So, you talked to him?" Maureen asked.

"Yeah. Care to explain to me why Mimi was so intent on us getting him to talk?"

"She said something about Roger being upset."

"When is he not upset?" Joanne asked, rolling her eyes.

Maureen laughed, "Come on, Pookie, let's eat. I'm starving!"

* * *

The following day, Mark couldn't sit still. He wasn't used to being in a strange place without his equipment to keep himself busy. He had already taken the medicine that Joanne was nice enough to provide. He felt fine and he was itching to get his documentary done.

He paced the room. Maureen was out organizing her next big protest and Joanne would be at work until the evening. Biting his lip, he pulled out the crumpled piece of paper he had in his jacket and looked it over. It was Jason's number. It was one in the afternoon on a Saturday, but he wasn't sure if the kid would be awake yet.

Nervously, (_why the hell am I so nervous?_ He asked himself) he picked up the phone in his room and dialed the number. He held his breath as it began to ring. After four rings, a groggy voice greeted him through the phone.

"Jason?" Mark asked, wondering if he was speaking to the right person.

"Mark?" came the surprised reply from the other end, "Ugh, what are you doing calling? I thought you were going to stay in for a few days."

"I can't, I'm too focused on this and I feel better already," the filmmaker quickly said, "Look, do you think you can get the gang together in about an hour and I'll do some more filming?"

"I don't know," Jason answered, his voice clearer now, "Jess is going to be out of town until tomorrow afternoon and she took Kim with her. Ryan and Adrian are probably at band practice."

Mark sighed, "Damn, I was really hoping to--"

"I can give you a one on one if you want."

"You won't mind sitting alone with me, answering stupid questions for god knows how long without your friends around to entertain you?"

"I like the camera time, what can I say?"

Mark laughed, "Alright, I'll meet you in an hour."

"An hour? I take longer to get ready."

"Then you better hurry up cause I'm not going to wait for you."

"Fuck!"

"See you soon."

"Yeah."

Mark hung up the phone and shook his head, _kids…_

* * *

Roger's fingers glided effortlessly over the strings of his guitar, his new song coming along so fast that he could hardly believe it. It sounded beautiful, soft, but rock and roll to the core. He loved the words and he loved the way it sounded. It was perfect and he couldn't understand how it just all came out of him.

_Maybe I just needed a break_, he told himself, _to get my head back together. That's got to be it._

A soft knock on the window gave him a start. Mimi looked back at him from behind the clear glass, smiling as she held up a bag with the familiar logo of a Chinese food place they liked to eat at. Roger motioned for her to get inside and she did, setting down the bag as she closed the window.

"When did you get enough money to get Chinese food?" Roger asked with a smile as he set down his guitar.

"I always have enough money for you," Mimi answered, walking over and kissing him on the lips, "Always."

"I'm going to have to take you out and show you how much I appreciate you," Roger pulled the dancer closer, their lips meeting again.

Soon, the food was all but forgotten as the two lay on the couch, kissing.

* * *

"I'm not just a teenager, you know what I mean? I want to grow up to make a fucking difference in this world. I'm not rebelling. I'm being myself and finding my place in the world. When people figure that out and stop being so scared of stereotypes, that's when we can move forward."

Mark was impressed with the extent of Jason's maturity and very intrigued as to how someone so young could have so many ideas and thoughts in their head. He was sure that if he wanted to, he could film Jason all day and make a wonderful story out of it. Unfortunately, that wasn't the point of this project.

"You're pretty smart for a kid," Mark commented as he wound up his camera.

"I'm not that much younger thank you," Jason said, "What are you? Like twenty one?"

"Twenty four, almost twenty five. Almost an eight year difference, so don't tell me you're not much younger."

Jason laughed and pulled out a carton of cigarettes from his pocket. They were both sitting in the boy's room, having decided to find a quieter and warmer environment as to not aggravate the bug that Mark had caught. On the faded blue walls, there were posters of a lot of known and a few unknown bands that Mark admired. It was a very teenaged room, no doubt about it.

"Tell me about yourself, Mark," Jason said as he lit a cigarette and took a drag, "I want to know about you now that I've practically told you my life story."

"What do you want to know?" the filmmaker asked.

Jason patted the space next to him on his bed, motioning for Mark to sit, "What do you do in your spare time? I mean, you can't always be talking to _kids_, right?"

"I try and get some freelance work once in a while. I used to work for Buzzline, but that wasn't my scene." Mark answered, "Other than that I try and look out for my friends, pay the rent, just try to survive, really."

"Your friends? Like that musician you live with?"

"Yeah. His name's Roger."

"Why do you have to take care of him? He's a grown up."

"He's HIV positive."

"Oh. Sorry." Jason apologized, knowing that the subject was touchy, "Um… how'd he get it? I mean, is he like…"

"Oh no, Roger's straight," Mark said quickly, "Roger got HIV from sharing dirty needles."

"So, he's a druggie?"

Mark coughed for a moment before answering, "Former."

"Life of a rock star. Better warn Adrian about that."

"He really wants to perform, doesn't he?"

Jason smiled as he took a drag, "Yeah. He loves music. It's like it's all he knows and all he understands. He's obsessed with it and can't sit still if he doesn't write for a day. It's like he'll go crazy if he doesn't create music."

"He sounds like Roger. Only with less baggage."

The teen laughed, "Adrian's just good at handling his baggage."

"Wish Roger knew how to do that."

"You really care about him, don't you?"

"Why shouldn't I? He's my best friend."

Jason didn't answer. Instead, he took the camera out of Mark's hands and raised it with his unsteady hands. Mark gave the boy a look of confusion before realizing that the camera was running.

"So, Mark, how about telling me a little about you and your friend Roger?"

* * *

Roger knew that he should be leaving the situation alone, but something just kept bothering him. It was like an itch he couldn't scratch. It was constantly just taunting him, daring him to do something. He hated that Mark had seen all sides of him, yet his best friend was always hiding and going about life as if everything were just peachy keen. _Did I actually think that?_ He wondered.

In his hand was Collins' number. He had been staring at it for the better half of an hour. He had been contemplating calling and all time has done was made him more and more desperate for answers. Biting his lip, he picked up the phone and dialed. The phone rang twice before Collins' familiar voice answered.

"Hello?"

"It's Roger."

"Hey, man, what's up?"

"Um, I have to ask you something," Roger started, "It's about Mark and I know you know something about this cause you were probably here. He-he's not talking and it's bothering the fuck out of me."

"What are you talking about?"

"Mark's been out of it lately, ever since that storm that rolled through that day. He was shaking so badly and I tried to see if everything was okay, but he kept pushing me away. Now every time I bring it up, he avoids my questions. I don't know what to do!"

"Whoa, calm down."

"I need to know what happened, Collins. Something keeps telling me that it had to do with me because I had never seen him scared of thunder and lightning before I had gone through withdrawal. I don't like this at all."

"Okay, slow down a bit, will you?" Collins said with a sigh, "Has he said he'll talk to you eventually, at least?"

"Well…yeah."

"Then you're going to have to wait, Roger. You know as well as I do that Mark doesn't go back on his word."

"But how soon is soon?"

"When he's ready. Look, I know you want answers and you hate being kept in the dark, but this is some heavy shit. You were a little out of your head when you were going through withdrawal."

"I've heard."

"Just… make sure to listen to him when you guys talk, okay? Don't stop him if he starts explaining, just listen."

"Okay." Roger sighed, "Thanks Collins."

"No problem. Give me a call later and we'll do lunch."

"If by 'do' you mean 'eat' the sure."

"Roger, you're sick."

"I know."

And for the first time that day, Roger laughed and laughed. And it felt good.

* * *

"You shouldn't go out when you're sick, pookie," Maureen said with a concerned expression.

Her and Mark were doing the dishes in the kitchen. Her comment came about when Mark turned away from his drying duties and started coughing. Perhaps it was also the fact that he sounded like he was losing his voice or the fact that he just plain didn't sound or look good, but Maureen was worried.

Elbow deep in dishwater, the diva gave the filmmaker the look she knew a mother would give a child.

"Stop looking at me like that," Mark rolled his eyes as he picked up another dish and dried it.

"Okay, one, you're sick and two, you hardly ate anything at dinner cause you said your stomach was not agreeing with it. I think I have a right to give you that look."

"Since when did you start worrying so much? It's my job."

It was Maureen's turn to roll her eyes, "I grew up, unlike you."

"Hey!" Mark sounded slightly offended.

Maureen ignored it, "Come on. Let's switch. I'm sick of washing. It's making my fingers all prune-like."

"And you're saying you matured?"

"Come on, Marky! Switch jobs with me."

"No, thanks. I like my drying duties."

Maureen washed her hands of suds and pulled the protesting filmmaker in front of the sink. She gave him a grin, before trying to take the towel from his hands. Mark kept it out of reach, seemingly too determined to not do the dishes. Shaking her head, she grabbed the blonde's arm and yanked the towel away.

"Maureen!" Mark exclaimed, trying to pull his arm out of the woman's vice-like grip.

"There, now just pull up your sleeves and you can do the--" the words stopped coming once she pulled up Mark's sleeve. On Mark's left wrist was a vertical scar, Maureen could see smaller, finer scars spanning across. The marks seemed to be screaming at her, "How--"

Mark pulled his arm away as Maureen's grip loosened. Instantly, he pulled down his sleeve and hurried away from the kitchen. The diva was hot on his tail. She was so focused on what she had just saw that she ignored the questioning look she got from Joanne as they passed the livingroom.

"Mark!" Maureen wanted an explanation. She had known Mark for so long that she thought she knew everything about him. She had seen him naked before, for god's sake, and wondered how she could have possibly missed something so shocking.

By the time she made it to the guestroom, Mark already had his bag open on the bed, shoving his clothes in. The diva stepped inside and pulled the bag off the bed, all of its contents spilling onto the floor. The filmmaker simply glared at her, long and hard, before kneeling down and gathering his things once more. Maureen made a frustrated sound as she kicked the bag away from Mark's reach.

"Explain! Now!" Maureen had never quite felt so angry before.

"What's going on?" Joanne's calm voice asked from the doorway.

"Nothing," Mark answered as he finally retrieved his bag, "It's nothing."

"Like hell!" Maureen exclaimed before grabbing Mark's arm. The filmmaker gave a cry of surprise and protest before the diva pulled up his sleeve, showing her girlfriend the scars.

Mark shoved Maureen away, not hard, but enough to make her let go, "Thanks, Maureen. Even when you keep your mouth shut you can't keep a fucking secret."

"Why do you have that?" Maureen asked, her voice well above the normal volume she usually used.

"I'm not going into it."

"You had better start explaining!"

"Maureen!" Joanne's voice was stern.

"But--"

"Let me talk to him."

Silently, Maureen agreed. She was still fuming when she left the room, but Joanne knew it would give her time to cool off.

Joanne stood in the doorway, watching as Mark packed, "Care you explain yourself?"

"Look, I already said--"

"Did you do that or did Roger?"

"What?" Mark looked up from what he was doing.

"The smaller scars," Joanne explained, "They're too fine to be made by a blade or even a razor, too consistent. They look like wires, maybe even guitar strings, maybe the E string? Am I close?" The look on Mark's face, his simple hesitation to answer was the answer she needed, "I thought so."

"I-I should leave," Mark whispered.

"No, you're staying." the lawyer said, "I'm not going to make you explain yourself and I'll talk to Maureen. I'm not letting you go to god knows where when you're sick and probably getting worse."

"I am not getting worse."

"Have you seen yourself?" Mark opened his mouth to argue, but Joanne stopped him, "Clean up and get some sleep. You talk when you're ready. As long as you're here, you're our guest. We'll take care of you and you take care of yourself."

Mark nodded as he set his things down on the bed, "Thanks."

"No need to thank me," Joanne smiled, "Being rational comes with the territory of being a lawyer."

The filmmaker gave a soft laugh and nodded.

Then she was out the door. In the hallway she gave a soft sigh before looking over at Maureen, who she knew would be waiting outside the door. The performer looked distressed and Joanne pulled her into a tight and comforting hug.

"Is that why he's here?" Maureen asked, her voice soft and uncertain. A very rare occurrence.

"Maybe, but we won't know for sure until he tells us."

"And what are the chances of that happening?" Maureen gave a humorless laugh, "He hardly tells us anything as is."

"We'll just have to wait and see. If he tells us to leave it alone, we'll have to. We can't make him talk."

A sigh, "I guess not."

* * *

**Author's Note:** That was much longer thank I thought it was going to be, but not nearly as long as I wanted it to be. However, I did start revealing more, so you can all start speculating some more! Hahaha! coughs Sorry, that came out weird. If anyone is confused and wants to ask non-plot revealing questions, feel free. I'll answer to the best of my ability. Thanks for reading and please leave a review!


	7. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** Oh man, work kicked my ass this week and having an ass amount of rain in the area totally didn't help my creativity any. Excuse me, I came on at the wrong note. Thank you guys so much for your reviews and thank you for viewing. It makes me happy to know that I'm not doing this for no reason.

* * *

**Chapter Six:**

"You, Mark Cohen, are an idiot," Joanne said with a shake of her head as she set down a glass of water and two pills on the night stand.

Mark groaned before burrowing further underneath the covers, "Don't remind me."

"It was genius to go out while you're sick, I have to say."

"Joanne, please shut up," the filmmaker gave the woman a nudge, "Don't you have work or something?"

"Not for another few hours, I have a late meeting."

"Just… wonderful."

Mark had woken up two hours ago, vomiting into the trash bin beside his bed. Joanne, being a light sleeper, immediately woke to see what was going on and if he was okay. After getting Mark relatively comfortable, she took his temperature and found that it had soared to 102.3, something that she was greatly concerned about.

"Listen, if you don't get better in the next two days, I'm talking you to a doctor," Joanne said as she sat on the edge of the bed.

"There is no way I can pay for the expenses," Mark told her

"You're covered, so shut up and take these damn pills."

"I hope Roger doesn't feel like I do when I tell him to take his AZT."

"Please, I'm nowhere as bad as you."

"…thanks."

Mark let out a harsh cough and buried his face into his pillow with a groan. Joanne soothingly ran her hand up and down his back as he coughed more, curling up, as if to disappear. Joanne actually felt bad for him. She had never actually seen him sick before. And she had never liked seeing people sick in the first place. They just seemed so helpless.

And Mark looked so much like a child, curled up in bed, face flushed, hair matted down, and without his glasses. In that instant, she could see why Maureen had liked him so much and why it must have been hard to leave him. It was the way he presented himself, awkward, yet approachable and easy to be with. She couldn't understand how anyone could hurt him intentionally.

"Ugh, I feel like something's crawling up my throat and it has claws," Mark moaned.

"You are such a baby when you're sick."

Mark rolled his eyes before slowly pushing himself up. He took the pills that Joanne had set down for him and swallowed them with the water. He set the glass back on the table and fell back into bed, pulling the covers over his head.

Joanne laughed, "Keep sleeping. I'll wake you before I leave."

Mark made a sound from under the covers, but the lawyer decided to leave him alone, knowing it would be better for his health to rest instead of talk. Quietly, she walked out of the room and shut the door.

With a sigh, she made her way to the livingroom and turned on the TV. Maureen was out, probably ready to start asking people a hell of a lot of questions about what she had seen the night before. She didn't blame the performer, simply because she wanted answers too, but she knew she couldn't push them or she'd be lied to or worse, be ignored completely.

* * *

Collins sat in a booth at the life, drinking a coffee and picking at a basket of fries as he read a new book he had just gotten. It was holding his interest, but he knew soon Maureen would be breaking him out of his little world and talking to him about god knows what. He hadn't gotten a call from the diva in a long time.

The sound of the door slamming against the wall as it flew open got the professor's attention. Sure enough, there was Maureen, walking in with such energy that she held everyone's attention. _Man, does this get old_, he smiled as he marked the page he had just been reading.

"Hey, Maureen," Collins said as he got up and hugged the younger woman.

"Hi, Collins," Maureen said back, pulling away and sitting in her seat, "I have a lot of questions for you and I swear if you don't answer them I'll scream."

"That serious, huh?"

Maureen quickly looked around the Life before lowering her voice, "Last night, while me and Mark were doing the dishes…"

"Wait, Mark's staying with you guys?"

"He's sick. Will you let me finish?" Collins waves his hand, signaling her to continue. "Anyway, he was drying and I washing and I wanted to switch jobs. He seemed so set on not doing it, but I didn't want prune fingers and I just hate washing. But I grabbed his arm and tried to get him ready for the job and when I pulled up his sleeve I saw scars."

Collins winced, knowing that eventually the subject would have been brought up. He just didn't expect Maureen to be the one that found out first.

"Please, tell me you know why he has them."

"I can explain the one running down his wrist, but I can't tell you what led up to it and the others came from something else, something I have no place to talk about."

Maureen's brows furrowed in confusion, "What do you mean?"

"Mark tried to kill himself, that's how he got the scar, but I can't tell you anything else. It's not my place."

"But I never saw those scars! And I was his girlfriend!"

"Maureen, he got them a couple days after he made you move out for your own safety. Remember?"

"But I was still his girlfriend up until before you came back."

"Did you guys have sex in that time?"

"Well…"

"Exactly," Collins didn't want to bring up the fact that the performer had been sleeping around at that time, especially since Mark was watching Roger. He decided that being as straightforward and simple was the best route to go.

"I just… I feel so stupid!" Maureen exclaimed, "How could I have missed something so big?"

"Mo, you have to understand, Mark didn't want to tell anyone. Even Roger doesn't know."

The woman sighed, "Joanne thinks Roger's got something to do with it."

"Well, I guess Roger's the only one who doesn't know then." Collins sighed. _So much for keeping a secret._

There was a long pause.

"Wait, you mean Benny knows?" Maureen asked, her voice going up a pitch.

Collins rolled his eyes, hoping his explanation would do for the time being, "Roger was going through withdrawal. It was before I left for MIT. When it happened, well, someone needed to watch Roger while Mark was in the hospital. Benny was the first choice since he was already with Alison--"

"Muffy," Maureen huffed.

"Right, but I called him and he helped out with the hospital bills and made sure that Mark stayed a night or two in the hospital. Mark really needed the rest and with what happened, he needed time away."

"And he didn't fight tooth and nail to get back to take care of Roger?"

"That's another story and you'll have to ask Mark about it."

"What about Roger? Shouldn't he know this story as well?"

"Roger was really out of it. He didn't remember even half of the things he did those first few months of withdrawal."

Maureen sighed, "This is so damned--"

"Complicated?"

"Yeah."

"Sorry, but that's just how it is."

Maureen made a sound of frustration and then proceeded to take a few of Collins' fries, chewing on them absentmindedly. The professor gave a small laugh before calling over a waiter. He might as well get her mind off of the situation by buying her lunch and telling her to keep calm.

* * *

"_Roger, it's okay," Mark whispered as he held the musician close, "You're okay."_

_Roger was shaking, gasping for air, "I need to get out of here. Mark, please, please just let me go out."_

"_You know I can't do that, you have to stay clean."_

"_You can't dictate my life!" Roger yelled as he pushed Mark._

_The smaller man stumbled, but kept his balance, his adrenaline pumping. He knew Roger would get like this. He had seen it before and it never quite got better as time progressed._

"_Just calm down, I'll make you some coffee," Mark tried, but Roger was already stepping closer._

"_I've had enough of you and your fucking rules!" And then the musician's calloused hands were around Mark's neck._

_The filmmaker struggled against the other man, but found himself unable to get free. Sleep and food deprivation had left him feeling weak. He pressed his hands to Roger's chest, trying to push the other man away. It only caused the musician's fingers to tighten around his throat._

"_Roger…" Mark tried, his voice strained._

_But Roger didn't respond. Those green eyes were filled with fury and hate. And they were all Mark saw as darkness closed in on him._

Mark woke with a start, first gasping for air, then coughing uncontrollably. He held his hand over his mouth, hoping to quiet himself as pain shot through his chest and throat.

He felt a hand on his back and realized that Joanne was in the room with him. He was thankful for the comfort she was providing him. After repeatedly clearing his throat, Mark took a sip of the water that was at his bedside.

"You alright?" Joanne asked.

"Ask me again when I'm not in pain." Mark replied.

The lawyer shook her head, "Well, I hope you're up for talking cause someone just called for you."

"Who?"

"Some kid called Jason. Use the phone in here and don't get out of bed," Joanne said, moving the phone on the bedside table closer.

Mark rubbed his eyes as he picked up the phone. Joanne walked out of the room and gave him privacy. It was only then that he spoke.

"Jason?"

"Mark, you said you'd call today," Jason said, sounding disappointed, "The gang's back and everything."

"I am insanely sick," Mark answered.

"Yeah, I can kind of tell by your voice." There was a pause on the other end, "Hey, want me to bring you some of my mom's chicken soup?"

It took a moment for the filmmaker to register what was being said, "What?"

"Chicken soup," Jason repeated, "My mom usually makes it for me when I'm sick and it really helps. I was just wondering if you wanted some. To make you feel better."

"No, I'm good. Don't go through the trouble."

"Please?"

_Oh god_, Mark thought, _don't do this_. "I don't think--"

"I'll bring the guys over and you can interview us there. Please? Pretty please?"

Mark wondered when Jason reverted back to a five year old, "Let me ask…"

* * *

An hour after making Joanne stop laughing at him for hanging out with kids and explaining that he was doing a documentary, that he swore to show when it was done, Jason and crew showed up at the door, smiling sweetly. Jason was actually holding a thermostat filled with soup. Kim had taken the liberty to get some ice cream while Adrian brought along Chinese food.

"Did you say kids or lackeys that do your bidding?" Joanne asked as she led the five teens to the guestroom.

"I didn't make them do anything," Mark groaned as he tried to hide under his covers. He was wondering if it was such a good idea to do this.

"Jesus, aren't you roasting in that thing?" Jess asked, pointing to Mark's long sleeved shirt as she plopped down on the empty side of the bed.

"I'm sick…?" Mark responded.

The teens laugh and Joanne rolls her eyes before saying, "I'm going to leave you kids alone. I have to get to work. Don't tire him out too much."

"We won't Ms. Jefferson." Adrian said, politely as Joanne closed the door.

"What makes you guys think I can even operate my camera right now?" Mark asked as he pushed himself up into a sitting position.

"Who said anything about filming?" Ryan asked with an amused smile. He pulled out a few spoons from his pocket, "We came you cheer you up and make you feel better by forcing food and crazy stories on you."

"I'm going to hate you guys by the end of this visit, you realize that?" the filmmaker asked.

"We know," Jason answered with a smirk.

* * *

Roger gave a frustrated sigh as he set down his guitar. He couldn't work on his new song. The chords sounded all wrong, even the words were starting to sound wrong and they sounded perfectly fine the night before.

"What the fuck do I do?" he asked himself as he settled back on the couch, the only place that seemed comfortable at the moment. Even his bed wasn't comfortable anymore. Too many memories haunted him, especially in his room, when he was alone and had too much time to think.

Mimi had decided to give him some space after they had a long talk. Roger realized that he needed to get his head together, especially if he wanted to confront Mark about what was going on.

"This is too fucking hard," the musician whispered.

The second those words left his mouth he regretted having heard or said them. He had said that one too many times during withdrawal, always ready to give up. He had been so ready to give up in those first few months, before things got easier.

He remembered screaming and screaming, the pain he felt and the urge that he had to suppress. Sometimes, he still had to suppress the urges. That was what made heroin so dangerous. He knew that even if he stopped for years, one day the craving could come back, just like that, and drive him to do something stupid. That was why the drug was so addictive. It made you want more and more.

He knew that he had hurt his roommates through the process. Collins liked retelling some of the stories, simply because they were funny. Most of them involved Mark fending for himself and that in a way triggered some visual memories that looked astonishingly surreal. It was hard to imagine, see, Mark standing up to an addict that could very easily take him in a fight.

Even with the stories he knew, Roger knew he was missing a lot. And that was why he was so bothered by this whole thing. He needed to know if Mark was afraid of thunder because of him. If it was one of the stories that they never told him. He knew he probably wouldn't be able to stand himself for a while because he could vaguely remember Mark talking about how much he loved watching thunderstorms.

Mark used to sit on the windowsill, staring out at the rain, watching as lightning stretched across the sky and thunder follow in its wake. He used to say that when he was in Scarsdale and his parents fought or when he felt like he wanted to give up, he would wait for a thunderstorm to roll around, then watch it as he sat at his open window. It made him calm and it fascinated him.

The current change that Roger just recently caught was too much of a change from what he remembered seeing.

He needed to get to the bottom of it somehow. If only he knew how.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you guys so much for reading, please leave a review. It would make me very happy. I hope you enjoyed this. The next chapter will be up soon!


	8. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:** Hey guys, sorry for the long delay and this short, short chapter. I did this mainly so I can give you guys a heads up as to what was going on. My updates will be a bit less... well, they'll slow down basically. This is happening mainly because of the fact that my job is killing me. Hopefully when I get into the grind of things I can update at least two or three times a week.

So, for now, enjoy and please understand that my life comes first. Thank you.

* * *

**Chapter Seven:**

Mimi was growing concerned. Roger just hadn't been the same in the past few days, especially since Mark was still recovering from his cold. From what she was told by Maureen, the filmmaker should be back at the loft by the next day, which was a very good sign. Unfortunately, she had a feeling that it would stir up drama and not the good kind.

Lately, she had taken to trying to start up conversations. She wanted to get Roger going again, like she did when she first got into his life and asked him to light her candle. It was proving to be hard. He was decidedly stubborn and unresponsive, even going as far as playing dumb when she tried to get him in bed.

Mimi hated being ignored. She hated feeling like she didn't exist.

A part of her, even if she didn't want to admit it, hated Mark. She hated him for being completely selfless and then suddenly becoming all about himself, even for a few days. She hated that he was closer to Roger than she'll ever be. She hated that he could make Roger not notice her.

Mimi gave a sigh as she poured herself a glass of orange juice, something she hadn't had in weeks, and walked towards the livingroom, where Roger was sitting on the couch. She sat down at the end, where the seat was partially free.

The silence was driving her mad.

* * *

_There was blood on his hands, staining everything he touched. It spread and spread like a shadow, claiming territory that wasn't its to take. More and more gathered and he realized that he was holding something in his hands. Droplets of blood dripped down the thin strand he held taunt. It looked like wire. No… it was a guitar string._

A guitar string? _He wondered. He knew he would never do such a thing to his instrument. He took care of it as if his life depended on it._

"_Roger, stop!" a familiar voice called. It was far away, distant. "Roger, you're hurting me!"_

_Then his own voice, sounding foreign countered, "You had no right! You had no fucking right!"_

"_Roger!"_

"_Shut up, Mark! I'm so sick of hearing your voice!"_

Roger shot up from the couch, startling Mimi, who nearly fell to the floor. His eyes scanned the room and then traveled to his hands. They were clean.

"Baby, are you okay?" Mimi asked, placing a hand on his arm.

"Y-yeah," the musician answered, "I'm fine. Just… bad dream."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." How could he tell her that he just dreamed about hurting his best friend? How could he explain that he feared that it had happened before? She would look at him differently. He knew she would.

"Baby, can we--"

"No."

He heard Mimi give a frustrated sigh before getting up and walking out of the loft. The door shut and he was left alone.

* * *

"You know, Mark, I love having you over," Joanne said with a fond smile, "But a week was way too long for me."

"You could have told me to leave," Mark countered with a smile.

"Yeah, then have you come back complaining about how you don't want your germs to infect someone? That would have been real smart of me."

"At least I didn't get you guys sick."

"You brought kids into my apartment. I'm sure they breathed it all in."

"Jason and Kim caught it. I should really apologize."

"Apologize by finishing your film."

Mark smiled before wrapping his scarf around his neck, stifling a minor cough as he did so, "Really, thanks."

"Always glad to help," Joanne answered, opening the door, "Take care of yourself or you'll have to answer to Maureen's wrath."

"And you know how much I don't want that," the filmmaker laughed, "See you soon, Jo."

And with that Mark made his way out of the building and into the streets, where fresh air invaded his lungs and made him feel alive. Finally being able to get out and just walk was a relief. He felt like a caged animal when all he could do was stay in Joanne's apartment and talk to teenagers. Although the upside was that he had enough material to start editing and fine-tuning his documentary.

_I wonder what Roger and Mimi are up to_, he thought as he started to make his way home. He had missed his roommate, missed the dancer, even missed telling them to take their AZT (which he hoped they had take while he was gone). He was glad that he was heading home. As comfortable as the last week had been, he missed the loft. The loft was home, no doubt about it.

The building came into sight sooner than he thought and it made him smile. He was ready to go back to his life. Quickly, he walked into the building, raced up the stairs, and knocked on the door. He hoped someone was home because he wasn't quite sure if he had misplaced his keys or not.

The door clicked and then slid open. Roger seemed surprised to see him.

"What? No welcome?" Mark asked as he brushed pass Roger and stepped into the loft.

"So, you're back?" the musician asked.

"Well, yeah," the filmmaker answered, "I didn't want to stay with two girls for the rest of my life."

"So, you're feeling better?

"Yeah."

Roger closed the door and there was a silence that Mark wasn't quite sure why existed. Then the musician stepped forward and began to speak. It all clicked into place.

"We should talk."

Things weren't going to go back to normal.

"Please, don't start this." Mark didn't want to talk about it.

"Mark, please."

"Roger, I always let you get away with being silent, with not answering me," Mark argued, finally realizing why being home was a bad idea, "Can you please, just let this slide? I'm not ready to talk about this."

"Then when will you be?"

"I'll let you know."

Mark sighed, picking up his things and heading towards his room.

"I had a dream yesterday," Roger said, stopping the filmmaker in his tracks, "It was really strange, but I know that it probably happened. I may not remember it, but some parts of it was pretty vivid."

Mark closed his eyes and held his breath, please don't let it be about that night.

"There was blood everywhere," Roger continued, "And my guitar string was being used. What happened that night?"

The filmmaker shook his head, "It was just a dream, Rog."

And the musician watched as his friend walked into his room and closes the door. Roger ran a hand through his hair and gave a frustrated sigh.

"Just a dream." He repeated to himself.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Okay, that was it. Again, sorry for it being so short. My next chapter will be longer. Please leave a review. Thank you so much for reading.


	9. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:** Hey guys, sorry for the long long wait. Seriously, my job is horrible. I need to learn how to manage the small amount of time I have. I've also had writer's block and I've also started a new story that I will be posting soon, but that in no way means that this will stop updating. Please enjoy this installment. Thank you.

* * *

**Chapter Eight:**

"I thought I saw Mark coming home," Mimi said from the doorway, closely watching Roger.

"Yeah, he's been in his room since he got back though," Roger answered.

"Tell him I want to talk to him when he's ready to come out."

As the dancer turned to walk out, the musician stopped her, "Mimi, wait."

She turned and gave Roger a questioning look, not knowing if what he said next would signal her decision to forgive him or her decision to just walk away and wait another day.

"I-I'm sorry about the past few days."

Mimi smirked, "Roger Davis is apologizing?"

"I have to sometime, don't I?"

The dancer laughed and stepped closer to the musician. She reached out and gently pulled him to her. She let her hands linger on his, letting him know that she was forgiving him and letting go of their argument, their recent distance.

"You're really worried about him," Mimi said softly, "Maybe you should give him space."

"It's hard," Roger replied, "I don't know how. He does the same thing to me."

"And you do the same thing to him."

"But-"

"Baby, both of you have horrible communication skills. Admit it."

"Yeah…"

* * *

Mark had managed to get out of the loft without much argument from Roger. In fact, there wasn't even more than a quick exchange of words. If he hadn't known better, he would have said that Roger was actually trying to give him space and be a good roommate.

As he made his way down the streets, he double-checked to make sure he was going in the right direction. After all, he had only been over to Jason's house once and he had been lead along. This time he was on his own and not too sure about his location.

It took him at least a good twenty minutes of searching before he could find the right number. When he rang the bell and no one answered, he was about to assume that Jason had forgotten that he was going to be over, but heavy footsteps told him otherwise.

The door opened to reveal a slightly sick looking Jason who glared at the filmmaker.

"I'm assuming you hate me for getting you sick."

"You would be right."

"I'm sorry?"

"Not good enough."

"I'll make it up to you somehow?"

"I'll see if I can decide on something."

"So…does that mean I can come in now? Like out of the cold?"

"Yeah, yeah, get your ass in here."

Mark followed Jason upstairs to the teen's room. The house wasn't new to him, but it still impressed him. He wondered how a kid with a good upbringing could turn out to be so unique.

"Okay, here's the deal, I really didn't tell you to come over today cause I had more stuff to tell you," Jason said, sheepishly as he sat down on his bed.

Mark gave Jason a questioning look before following and sitting on the bed, "What do you mean?"

"Are you always this dense?" Jason asked, rolling his eyes.

"What?"

"Nothing. And take off your jacket, you must be burning up in that thing."

It was Mark's turn to roll his eyes as he took off his scarf and then his jacket, "There, happy?"

"Not really."

"So, why did you ask me to come over?" Mark sighed.

"I wanted company. I'm sick and no one's around."

"Isn't that why you have friends?"

"Well…"

"Is there something you're not telling me?"

"Well, sort of."

"You can always just talk about it."

Jason deliberated before asking, "Did you know I was bi?"

"From the moment I saw you and the second someone in the group called you a fag."

"Why weren't you scared of it? I mean, yeah, you have gay friends, but why doesn't any of that push you away?"

"Why should I be afraid of it?"

"Aren't you scared of catching it?"

"Jason, I'm not that stupid. Plus…"

"Plus what?"

"Whoever said I was completely straight?"

"I knew it!"

Mark cringed, "Calm yourself."

"I knew I picked up something!"

"Okay, I get it. You have really good gaydar, now can you not freak out?"

"But I can't help it!"

"Why not?"

"Cause…"

"Cause?"

And suddenly Mark found himself being pushed back on the bed with Jason crawling on top of him. He was completely frozen, not knowing what to do as the teen's lips met his. He didn't know how to react. It was as if his mind was shutting down.

When he felt Jason's tongue trying to push past his lips, he forced himself to place his hands on the teenager's shoulder and push him away.

"What was that?" Mark asked.

"You are so dense," Jason said as he tried to kiss the filmmaker again.

"We can't be doing this," Mark said, keeping Jason just inches away from him.

"Why not?"

"You're jailbait."

"So?"

"It's wrong."

"How can it be wrong if it feels right to me?"

"You're delusional."

"I'm not."

"God you're just like Roger, stubborn till the end."

Jason looked intently at Mark's face, as if searching. Then a look of realization washed over his features.

"I get it," Jason said, "You're in love with him… That's why you like talking about him. That's why you always bring him up."

"What?"

The teen gave a soft laugh, "Well, if you like him so much, why don't you just pretend I'm him? For one day."

"Jason…"

"Think about it, Mark. We both get what we want, right?"

Mark shook his head and pushed Jason off of him, quickly grabbing for his things, "I should get going."

"Think about it."

And Mark walked out, not knowing what else to do.

He was pissed at himself for being so stupid. He was stupid enough to let his emotions go in front of a few kids cause he didn't think any of them would piece it together. Unfortunately, it seemed that Jason was a lot smarter than he came off.

* * *

Roger didn't miss the way that Mark looked when he walked through the door. But he knew he shouldn't question it.

"I'm going to get some sleep," Mark had whispered before going into his room and the musician simply nodded.

He tried not to think about Mark and the way that he had been acting. He tried not to think about all the things that he could have done to Mark. He tried not to dwell on the past, but it was all he could think about. All he could do was go back to that dream and wonder if any of it had actually happened because it seemed so real and true enough to happen.

His mind kept trying to piece together the puzzle and sometimes a new image would be conjured up, but he didn't know how it fit. He only knew that it had to do with his guitar. It was connected. He didn't know how much time had passed, but his thoughts kept drifting. Maybe an hour or two had gone by. He wasn't sure he was so caught up.

_Could I have really done that to him?_

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard Mark screaming.

* * *

_Pain shot through his left arm. It was sharp and made him gasp. First, he could feel his circulation being cut off and he tried to use his free hand to get away. A hand closed around his neck, pushing his head back onto the floor with such force he saw stars._

"_Don't do this…" he tried, his free hand trying to fend off his assailant._

"_You can't do this to me!"_

"_Please, I'm sor--" the words were cut off as the hand around his neck tightened and the string wrapped around his left wrist was pulled so tight it dug into his arm, breaking the skin and making him scream._

_He felt blood flowing, dripping onto the floor and he could see it spreading. The sight of it made his body feel weak, knowing that he was physically bleeding onto the floor. He looked up and found eyes glaring down at him, filled with so much fury that he had to look away._

_The hand around his neck was no longer there, but it was moving, getting something he couldn't see or make out._

"_Roger, stop!" he tried, wanting this violence and pain to end, "Roger, you're hurting me!"_

_He knew that sometimes those words had affect and he hoped it was one of those times._

_Unfortunately it wasn't one of those days as an angered voice shot back. "You had no right! You had no fucking right."_

_The string tightened again, "Roger!"_

"Mark!"

Mark jolted awake, drawing back the second he realized that Roger was in the room, on his bed, "W-what are you doing in here?"

"You were screaming," the musician answered, looking concerned.

The filmmaker buried his head in his hands, taking in deep shaky breaths. He needed Roger out of the room and away from him, but he didn't know how to tell his friend that his mere presence made him feel anxious.

The dreams were coming back, something he had been able to avoid for over two years. The fact that they were becoming more frequent again was unsettling. He hated them, the way they presented themselves, so vividly. It was a memory he couldn't push out of his mind.

"Mark?"

"Get out," the filmmaker quietly said, "Please, get out."

"What?" Roger sounded confused and uncertain, "But-"

"Roger, please…"

"Why are you pushing me away?"

Mark took a deep breath before raising his head and speaking calmly, "Because you're making this worse. Now, get out."

The musician's brows furrowed in confusion, "What is wrong with you?"

"Roger, don't."

"You can't keep hiding this! You can't just pretend nothing is wrong because something obviously is! You wouldn't be screaming at four in the morning if everything was alright!"

"Shut up, Roger!" Mark couldn't keep his own temper in check as he tried to shove Roger away. He needed to be alone. He couldn't understand why Roger didn't understand that. The other man didn't back down, pushing back with just as much force.

Their tempers were getting out of control, something that hadn't happened in a long time.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Mark?" Roger's voice was rising and Mark didn't back down, still trying to get the musician to get out. "Stop it!"

"Get out!"

Roger let out a growl of frustration before pushing Mark back onto the mattress. He moved quickly, not wanting the filmmaker to get another chance to try and attack him. He grabbed the blonde's arms and pinned them down, straddling the other man's waist.

"You can't do this!" Roger yelled, "You can't keep pushing me away!"

"Get off me!"

Mark pulled his arms free and lashed out, but Roger was faster, grabbing the other man before he could be struck. As the filmmaker struggled, something caught Roger's eye. A scar. No, a series of scars on Mark's arm were visible as the sleeve of his sweatshirt had slid to his forearm.

"How'd you get these?" Roger asked, his voice rising as he looked at his friend, "How'd you get these?"

Mark looked away as he stopped struggling, his heart racing in his chest, knowing that the truth would have to come out.

"Did you do this to yourself?" the musician asked.

Mark squeezed his eyes shut and whispered, "Yes."

"Why?"

That was the exact question the filmmaker needed before answering, "Because of you."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Am I just always leaving cliffhangers or what? Anyone, someone totally called Jason having a crush on Mark. I had planned it all along, but there will be a bigger reason later on for why this happens. Everything happens for a reason. I hope this wasn't disappointing, I wasn't too happy with this chapter. Thank you for reading and please leave a review. Thank you!


	10. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:** I bet you guys are surprised I updated so soon! I finally got enough time since I have a bit of a break. I'm kind of pleased with this chapter and it is by far the last one. This story will be pretty long, so don't worry. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Nine:**

Mark sat on the worn sofa in the livingroom, holding tightly onto a cup of tea that Roger had made for him. His heart was racing in his chest, not sure if he was ready to tell the story of what happened that night so long ago. But something told him that Roger wouldn't be backing down tonight, not after what he had said.

The musician had been so shocked that he actually lapsed into silence. Which lead to him pulling the filmmaker into the livingroom and insisting to know what happened. Mark didn't know if he wanted Roger to deal with the story, the guilt, and the possible disgust he might feel.

Mark knew that explaining the scars meant telling more than just one story. One told of what happened, but the other told of something he wanted to keep out of Roger's life, especially since things were going so well lately. He couldn't tell his best friend that he was in love with him.

"Please tell me what happened," Roger said softly, as he leaned forward in his seat, "I have to know what I did."

"It wasn't all your fault," Mark tried to argue, "You were going through withdrawal and the thing with April…"

"You can't always blame my actions on withdrawal or the fact that I was grieving," the musician said, "Please, Mark. I need to know. I… I just want to know how I can help you."

"Roger…"

"For my peace of mind."

"You're not going to like this story."

"Mark. Please."

The filmmaker sighed as he set down his cup. He bit his lip and took a shaky breath, "Are you sure you want to hear this?"

"Positive."

"…okay."

_It was late May, getting close to early June. A month after, April had committed suicide. Two weeks after, Roger had almost overdosed on heroin and it prompted him to try and quit. However, he didn't know that the stages of withdrawal would be pure torture._

_Two and a half weeks into withdrawal, Roger was having a good spell. In fact, all he had been doing was sitting on the windowsill, staring at the outside world. He couldn't touch his guitar because he couldn't think of anything to play. He couldn't even push down on the strings sometimes because his fingers would feel numb or the pain of withdrawal would hold him back._

_The fact was, Roger was afraid to play his guitar because of two reasons. He didn't want to ruin his most prized possession and he didn't want to be reminded of April. Every song he had ever wrote reminded him of her and every string he touched reminded him that she went out and got him extras when they broke. Every string had broken at least once in their relationship and every time, she replaced them._

_It was raining the night it happened. A major thunderstorm had rolled into the city, big enough that radio and television stations were broadcasting warnings._

_Mark had decided that it was his turn to watch Roger, even though he was constantly in the loft looking after his best friend. However, the day before, he had gone out and left Collins to watch after the musician while he got something. He hoped it would cheer Roger up, maybe even get him to play a song or two on his acoustic guitar. Maybe talk like they used to when they were alone._

_Mark watched as Roger sat at the windowsill, watching lightning stretch across the sky. It was getting late, but lately they have hardly slept anyway. Mark held the paper bag that held his purchase from the day before. Slowly, he stepped closer to his roommate._

"_Roger?" he asked, cautiously._

"_What?" the musician snapped, not looking away from the storm that continued to rage on outside._

"_Why don't you play a song tonight?" Mark tried, sounding as suggestive as possible._

"_I can't!" Roger said, "The high E string is broken. You know that!"_

"_Well, I thought maybe you could fix it."_

"_With what money? And it's not like you're going to let me out of here anyway!"_

_Mark bit his lip as he carefully placed the paper bag on the windowsill for Roger to see. He watched as the musician looked at the package questioningly before picking it up. The look on Roger's face as he pulled out the new replacement strings was one of surprise. His eyes lit up._

_The filmmaker smiled, but then quickly noticed the way that Roger's eyes narrowed. Then that hard, intense, angry gaze was focused on him._

"_What's the meaning of this?" Roger asked, his voice dangerous and low._

"_What do you mean?" Mark asked, confused by his friend's reaction._

"_You can't do this."_

"_Roger, what are you talking about?"_

"_This!" the musician yelled, holding up the guitar strings, "You didn't have a right to do this!"_

"_What are you talking about?"_

"_April! This was what she did! You have no right taking it away from her!" And before Mark could react, Roger was on his feet, getting in the filmmaker's face, "Are you trying to prove something?"_

_Mark felt himself physically shaking, he had never seen his friend so angry at him before, "I-I'm sorry. I-I wasn't thinking…"_

"_Yeah, you never fucking think!" Roger shoved Mark, so hard the filmmaker fell to the floor._

_Mark hissed in pain as he held the back of his head with his hand. He couldn't open his eyes, the pain causing him to curl up. But he felt himself being pushed onto his back and Roger's weight descended on him. He heard plastic being pulled open and realized that Roger was pulling the strings from the package._

"_Roger?"_

_A fist collided with his face and he cried out in pain. He tried to struggle free, but the musician's weight kept him in place. He felt his left arm being grabbed and something cool wrapping around his wrist. _What is he doing? _He wondered. The answer came when the guitar string was pulled tight. It hurt and he tried pull away, using his free hand to try and shove Roger away._

_A hand wrapped around his throat and pushed his head back onto the floor so hard that he saw stars. Tears formed in his eyes as the pain radiated across the back of his head._

"_Don't do this…" Mark tried, his free hand trying to get Roger off of him._

"_You can't do this to me!"_

"_Please, I'm sor--" the words were cut off as the hand around his neck tightened and the string wrapped around his left wrist was pulled so tight it dug into his arm, breaking the skin and making him scream._

_He felt blood flowing, dripping onto the floor and he could see it spreading, slowly pooling. The sight of it made his body feel weak, knowing that he was physically bleeding onto the floor. He looked up and found eyes glaring down at him, filled with so much fury that he had to look away._

_The hand around his neck was released, but he could hear Roger reaching for something in his back pocket._

"_Roger, stop!" he tried again, hoping to talk some sense into his friend, "Roger, you're hurting me!"_

"_You had no right! You had no fucking right."_

_The string tightened again, "Roger!"_

"_Shut up, Mark! I'm so sick of hearing your voice!"_

_Roger's fist collided with his face again. His vision blurred and he heard the unmistakable sound of his glasses breaking._

"_You can't replace her, Mark!"_

"_I wasn--" his words were cut off as the musician hit him again._

"_Shut up!" Roger yelled, letting go of the guitar string and pinning down both of the filmmaker's arms, "That's what you been trying to do since the beginning, wasn't it? You can't, you fucking faggot!"_

_Mark pulled in a shaky breath, feeling himself trembling under the musician as thunder roared outside, lightning flashing so bright it lit up the entire room. The look he saw in Roger's eyes told him that this wouldn't end well and he cursed himself for having been so inconsiderate of how his friend would have felt. But those eyes. They weren't Roger's._

He won't remember this, _he knew._

_Roger's venomous voice cut through his thoughts, "If you want to replace her so badly, I might as well use you for the only thing you're good for."_

Mark was shaking, close to crying as he cut himself off. He couldn't finish the story. He tried to stop the tears from welling up in his eyes, but steadily they fell as he pulled his knees to his chest, hugging himself. He looked to Roger, who sat, silent.

"Mark… I," Roger looked as if he was searching for the right words, "Did I--"

_Please, don't use that word,_ Mark thought as he closed his eyes, _please._

Roger swallowed thickly, "Did I rape you?"

And Mark nodded.

"I-I'm sorry…" Roger whispered, not knowing what to saying.

"It wasn't your fault," the filmmaker said, "You were…"

"Of course I'm to blame for my own actions!" Roger exclaimed, "You can't excuse them just cause I was going through something! You can't possibly forgive me. How can you?"

Mark lowered his eyes and shook his head, "Because you were partially right."

"What do you mean?"

The filmmaker sighed.

_Collins had tried to get Mark to go to the hospital three days ago, but the filmmaker wasn't budging. He insisted that he was alright and Collins insisted that their home first aid kit was not going to help fight off infections of the cuts on his arm got infected. What the professor was most worried about was Mark's health. He wanted the filmmaker to get an HIV test._

_All Mark could do was think over what had happened. He dreamed about it and when he closed his eyes he could see it happening so clearly it was startling. Collins had taken to taking care of Roger, being strong enough to handle a junkie going through withdrawal. That created enough of a distraction for Mark to lock himself in the bathroom._

_As he sat there on the tiled floor, his hand gripping the straight razor his dad had given him when he went off to college, he thought about all that Roger had said to him, about how he wanted to replace April. And in a way, the musician was right. Mark didn't want to replace April per say, but he wanted Roger to see him as he saw the woman with the fiery red hair. He longed for Roger to love him._

_He admitted it._

_He was in love with his best friend and had been from the moment he first stepped foot into the loft. At first, it was pure lust, all attraction. But then, he began to see the Roger Davis some people didn't. He saw the sensitive man that wrote beautiful music. He saw the man that was caring, though distant. He devoted his time to closing that distance and in a way he had succeeded._

_Then April came into the picture and he felt that gap growing wider and wider as heroin threatened to take over their lives._

_He wasn't trying to take advantage of Roger or even try and put the thought of them having anything more than a friendship in the musician's head, but somehow he still came off that way. He still came off as the bad guy and he paid the price for wanting something he couldn't have._

_And he sat there, reflecting upon how like April he was. He was trying to take the easy way out. He wanted the nightmares and Roger's voice to go away. He wanted the actions from the past to stop haunting him and let him sleep, perhaps even forget about his stupid fascination with his best friend._

_Mark pulled open the straight razor and stared at the sharpened metal, wondering how painful it would be. He pressed the blade against his left wrist, right where Roger left marks of his own, and pushed it as deep as he dared, hissing in pain. As he dragged the blade upward, toward the crock of his elbow, he wondered how April could have slit both wrists. One was painful enough as it was._

_As blood dripped onto the floor, he pushed himself up and walked toward the medicine cabinet. He opened it and looked inside, searching for the sleeping aid that they kept. He told himself that it was stupid to try and kill himself twice over, but he didn't want any mistakes. He needed to make sure he didn't fail at what April was able to achieve._

_He studied the bottle of pills in his hands, the label smeared with his blood as he contemplated taking them. He situated himself back on the floor and popped the cap open. The pills slipped out and onto the floor, but he didn't reach for them. He could already feel himself getting lightheaded from the blood loss._

_All he could think of for his last words were the words: I'm sorry. I love you… scrawled out in blood on the bathroom floor. He knew it was melodramatic, but it would get the point across._

"You love me?" Roger whispered.

"I'm sorry," Mark answered quietly, trying to wipe away the tears that were streaming down his face.

"I-I have to go," the musician said as he got up and grabbed his jacket.

And Mark watched as Roger opened the loft door and walked out.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I hope I didn't disappoint anyone with the direction I took with this. I've been planning this whole scene from the beginning and it was wonderful to finally get it out. I also hope I didn't shock or offend anyone.

Thank you guys so much for reading. Please leave a review and I will try and get the next update out as soon as possible.

PS: You guys are totally awesome for giving me more than 50 reviews. It makes me feel very accomplished. Thank you.


	11. Chapter 10

**Author's Note:** Oh my god, you guys are all so amazing to me. You leave such nice words and don't kill me for the direction that I took with the fic. Thank you guys so much. I really squealed when I saw how many reviews I got for the last chapter. It made me so happy. Thank you, thank you, thank you! I really hope you guys enjoy this, I'm trying to develop a lottle more so you can see why this situation is so much more complicated than it seems.

* * *

**Chapter Ten:**

_I'm such an idiot_, Mark thought as he grabbed his scarf and jacket. After hours of waiting, he had had enough of waiting alone. He managed to get himself dressed and was ready to head out the door. _I'm such a fucking idiot!_

He didn't know what to do with himself. He still hadn't managed to get his emotions in control and practically everything he was doing was pushing him closer and closer to a breakdown. He took in a deep breath and tried to calm himself as he reached for the door.

A knock made him jump. _Shit!_

With shaky hands, Mark pulled open the door to reveal Mimi, "Mimi?"

"Hi, Mark," the dancer said, "Going out?"

"Uh… yeah."

"It's not even nine yet."

"I can't sleep," Mark said with a sigh, "And if you're looking for Roger, he's not home."

"Oh. Where is he?"

"I don't know. He left a few hours ago and…"

"A few hours ago?" Mimi's voice was etched with worry, "And you haven't gone looking for him yet?"

"I don't think he would want me to," Mark whispered as he wrapped his scarf around his neck, "I'm going to go…"

The filmmaker tried to brush pass the dancer, but Mimi reached out and grabbed his arm. For how small she was, she had a surprisingly strong grip. Mark sighed and gently pulled away from her.

"What happened, Mark?" Mimi asked.

Mark could see the beginnings or anger flaring up in her eyes, "I don't need to explain myself. Ask Roger when he gets back."

And Mark walked out the door and down the stairs, disappearing so fast Mimi didn't have time to react or call out to him.

* * *

"You better have a real good reason for coming over so damn early," Collins said as he yawned, leading Roger into his livingroom. His apartment was nothing like the loft, but it was by no means better than the loft. The heat would go out and sometimes there was no hot water. But it provided him a place to live and a place to stay away from the memories of Angel that still haunted him.

Roger sat down on the couch, seemingly dazed and out of his element, "Mark told me what happened."

Collins tensed and situated himself on the seat opposite of the musician, "So you guys talked?"

"He told me that he tried to commit suicide after what happened because he loves me," Roger said, "I didn't know how to react and I walked out."

"You just walked out!" Collins exclaimed, "Roger, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"I didn't know what to do!"

"The guy just poured his heart out and told you what's been giving him nightmares for the past few years and you walk out on him? That's fucked up."

"I know. I'm such an idiot…"

Collins shook his head, "When did you leave?"

"A few hours ago…"

"Roger, what if he did something stupid?"

"Would he really?"

"I don't know. It depends on how distressed he was."

"Shit, Collins. I don't know what to do!"

"Roger…"

"I could have given him HIV!"

"Roger!"

The musician fell silent. The professor leaned forward in his seat and gave a tired sigh, "Despite the fact that you assaulted him, you used a condom that night."

"What?" Roger was confused. He had been coherent enough to use protection?

"Yeah. Don't ask how you managed to do it cause I don't know."

"But that doesn't make sense!" Roger exclaimed, "I would have had to…"

And something very disturbing hit him as those words made it's way out of his mouth.

He would have had to plan it if he had had a condom on him. And something told him that Mark might have already thought about the possibilities. _And he's still not blaming me_, Roger thought as he buried his head in his hands. _What the fuck happened that night?_

"Are you okay?" Collins asked, looking concerned.

"Yeah… no. No, I'm not," the musician answered.

* * *

Mark didn't know what to do. He wandered through New York City, not paying attention or noticing the things that were going on around him. Though he had the camera in his hand, it wasn't doing anything. He wasn't filming anything and couldn't get himself to do it.

As he walked, he was glad that he hadn't told Roger the whole story. Maybe the musician would think through the whole thing and just forget anything had happened so they can go on with their lives. Maybe, just maybe, Roger could forget the fact that Mark admitted to loving him.

_But why couldn't he have just stayed and talked instead of running away?_ He wondered. He hated it when Roger ran away, simply because every time it happened it left him with a deep feeling of numbness and loneliness, both of which he didn't want to face alone.

_He'll never love me back_, Mark told himself. He knew that it was true. It had to be true because Roger was in love with Mimi. Mimi, the fiery dancer with the hypnotic moves and honey smooth voice. He was jealous of her, of her ability to have Roger love her.

Mark wished that Roger could just for once, touch him the way he touched April or the way he touched Mimi, but all he ever got was violence. And he held onto it. No, he never tormented himself with it, but some nights the feelings, the urges would get so bad that he would do anything just to know that Roger knew that he existed. _God, I'm fucked up._

By the time he fell out of his state of trance, he realized that it was dark. He was shaking from having been in the cold so long. _Shit…_ he knew he should have paid attention. His friends would be worried sick about him. He turned at the next corner, but hesitated, not knowing if he should go back to the loft or not. _Maybe Roger doesn't want to see me_. He told himself. And with a sigh, he headed in a different direction.

He flexed his cold hands in his pocket as he walked toward his destination, nearly breaking into a run. He crossed streets, dodged people, and then slowly walked onto a street lined with houses. He approached a familiar one and knocked. He kept knocking until someone opened the door.

"Mark?" a very surprised looking Jason asked.

* * *

Mimi wasn't prepared when she opened the door to a worried looking Roger, "Baby, what's wrong?"

"Have you seen Mark?" Roger asked.

The dancer sighed. She should have known this was going to be about Mark. Everything has been about Mark lately.

"I saw him earlier today, but that was it," Mimi answered.

"Shit," the musician cursed, "He hasn't come back yet and he's never out this late without a call."

"So, you're worried?"

"Yes, I'm worried."

But Mimi knew it had to be more than that. There was always more when Roger got worked up.

"Mark's a grown man," Mimi said, "You should stop worrying so much. He'll explain himself when he gets back."

"It's not…" Roger struggled to find words, "…something happened."

"What happened?" the dancer asked.

"It's a long story."

"I've got time."

"I can't… I can't talk about this."

Mimi gave a frustrated sigh, "Fine. You go do whatever you have to do, Roger. Just don't come back until you can actually talk cause I'm getting sick of this bullshit!"

"Mimi…"

"No! I'm done with this! All you do is shut me out! And for what? For Mark?"

"That's not…"

"When you're ready to talk, we'll settle this."

And with that Mimi slammed the door in the musician's face.

* * *

Mark's hands were shaking as he tried to hold the cup of tea that Jason had given him, steady. He sat in the teen's room, staring at his drink. His heart raced in his chest because there were only two reasons why he was there and neither made him feel too good about his visit. One hurt and the other was, simply, morally wrong.

"So, want to tell me why you showed up at my doorstep looking like a lost puppy?" Jason asked, looking concerned as he sat on the bed next to Mark.

"I had a talk with Roger," the filmmaker answered.

"I'm assuming it didn't go well."

"It's complicated."

"Care to elaborate?"

"I should just give you the short version."

"Then do it."

Mark took a shaky breath and set his tea on the nightstand, "I told him that I had feelings for him and he walked out."

"You're really shortening it for me, aren't you?"

"He… he hurt me once and I tried to kill myself over some things that he said. I obviously failed because I'm still here and I still love him," the filmmaker said with a sad smile, tears welling up in his eyes.

"Oh, Mark…" Jason whispered, giving the older man a sympathetic look, "I'm sorry…"

"What do I do?" Mark asked, closing his eyes and willing the tears to go away. He didn't want to lose control over his emotions. Not now.

"Let me see," Jason said, softly.

"What?"

"Your scar."

"But I never…"

"I just assumed and I guess I was right."

The filmmaker hesitantly pulled up his left sleeve and showed the scar to Jason. The sight of it was a burning reminder to him of what had happened. But Jason didn't know the full story and the teen took his arm and raised it to his face, kissing the scar.

"You're a tragic figure, you know that?" Jason asked, "Loving someone you can't have, but unable to escape them at the same time."

Jason traced the scar with his fingertip as they lapsed into silence. Mark felt his heart racing in his chest, the words not wanting to escape, but fluttering in his throat, trying to escape.

"So, why did you really come back?" Jason asked.

Mark breathed and allowed the words to escape, "Does your offer still stand?"

* * *

**Author's Note:** Okay, so I really hope none of the turn of events made anyone hate me or go "oh man, you are so killing the story!". I told you Jason had a reason to be there. Now you just have to figure out if I'm really going to go through with it or not. Not that that's a threat...

But seriously, I hope you guys enjoyed that and won't maim me for any of the things I wrote. I hope I stayed in character too. It's so hard to not make Mark a little weepy...

Please, leave a review and let me know what you think. Thank you so so much.


	12. Chapter 11

**Author's Note:** I really, really hate work. It cuts so much into my time that I really have no room to write as much as I want. It kinda sucks, seriously. But thank you guys so much for your reviews, they really let me know that it was worth it to keep going with this story. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter.

* * *

**Chapter Eleven:**

Jason smiled as he gave a small sigh. He placed his hand on the back of Mark's neck and pulled the filmmaker closer so their foreheads were touching, "I know I want this and I know at the moment, you want this too. But you're not thinking straight."

"So, you're pushing me away?" Mark asked, sounding hurt.

"No, no, that's not what I meant," Jason continued, "I've thought about this Mark and you were right. I'm just a kid. And it might end up hurting you more than helping, especially in this state."

The filmmaker gave a wary laugh, "You're just like him."

"I'm not like him. I wouldn't--"

"I give you what you want and all you do is push me away," Mark pulled away from the teen and stood, "You're both the same."

"Mark--"

"Don't!" Mark exclaimed as he pulled on his jacket and grabbed his bag, "Just don't. I should have known better. I should have--"

Jason also stood, watching as Mark cut off his own words. He didn't know what to do. The filmmaker stood, hand reaching for the bedroom door, but not quite getting there. He could see Mark's shoulders rising and falling as he took in deep breath after breath.

"Mark?" Jason asked as he stepped closer, "Are you okay?"

And Mark reached for the door, pulling it open so fast it slammed against the wall. The teen jumped in surprise, unable to react as the filmmaker walked out of the room. Jason followed in a hesitant state, watching as Mark ran down the stairs and then out the front door.

He sighed. _You're the one who's pushing everyone away, Mark._

* * *

Mark stepped into an alleyway and pressed his back against the brick wall, trying to catch his breath. He squeezed his eyes shut and cursed under his breath. _Why do I keep setting myself up like this?_ He asked himself as he slid to the floor.

He pulled his knees to his chest and lowered his head, trying to keep himself from crying in public. He hadn't cried since he was released from the hospital after his suicide attempt. He felt so pathetic, sitting there, not knowing what to do. He was completely lost, not knowing who to go to anymore.

Roger knew the story and he was scared to confront him. He didn't want to be pushed away or be cast out simply because he was stupid enough to fall for his best friend. And what would Roger see in him anyway? He was an unsuccessful filmmaker who got dumped by his girlfriend for a lesbian lawyer, for god's sake. And Roger wouldn't go for guys like him even if he did like boys. _God, stop it! Stop doing this to yourself!_

_I have to get out, I can't do this,_ he thought as he pushed himself to his feet, _I can't keep doing this._

* * *

Roger sat on the windowsill, strumming his guitar, trying to keep his mind occupied as he played minor and major chords alternately. He had to keep busy or he would start pacing the loft, which was something he hated doing because it only allows him to focus on the problems he had in front of him, all of which he couldn't understand and really didn't want to think about.

First there was Mark, who he didn't feel he could talk to. He was disturbed by the fact that he had hurt his best friend in, perhaps, one of the most degrading way possible. But, he was also a little taken aback by the fact that Mark loved him. It was the last thing that he had expected, the one thing he thought he would never hear about.

It wasn't that he was disgusted or felt awkward. It was the fact that a long time ago, he had really liked Mark too. It just never went as far as love simply because he moved on and fell for April. Then the suicide happened, followed by his diagnosis of HIV and soon came withdrawal. Then there was the uncertainty and the unwillingness to do anything, knowing that his mortality was staring him in the face. And then, Mimi walked into his life and all he could do was focus on her. How could he break that to his best friend?

And if that whole deal wasn't enough, now Mimi was completely shutting him out. He couldn't reach her. She wouldn't open the door when he knocked. He had called her so many times she lost count. This was the woman he loved and she wasn't helping his situation any. The fact that she had slammed the door in his face when he asked about Mark made him hate her just a little.

Mark was his best friend, she should know that he would worry and need some words of assurance, not a door to the face.

_God, what the hell do I do?_ He asked himself as he ran a hand through his hair. _This is getting ridiculous._

* * *

As Mimi walked down the street towards the Cat Scratch, she pulled her jacket tighter around herself. She kept walking, trying to get to the club as fast as she could. She was running late for a meeting with one of her friends and she hated being late.

As she neared the club, she saw Mark heading in the direction of the loft on the other side of the street. She felt a pang of anger spread through her. In an instant, she had made up her mind and crossed the street to stop the filmmaker.

Mark never saw her coming, jumping when she grabbed his arm. She heard a familiar sound come from the filmmaker's bag, a rattling sound.

"What are you doing?" Mimi asked, knowing that her actions must have made Mark feel uncomfortable. _Good, he should feel that way for all the shit he's putting Roger and me through._

"I-I'm heading home," Mark answered, pulling out of the dancer's grip.

"What's in your bag, Mark?"

"What?"

"I heard something rattling, what is it?"

The filmmaker shook his head, "It's just AZT for Roger, Mimi. I know he'll run out in a few days so I picked it up early."

"With what money?"

"I just won't get film for a while," Mark answered.

And there came the guilt that Mimi knew she would feel for being angry with Mark. He was always so good to them that there was just no way she could stay mad.

Mimi sighed, "You should talk to him. He's worried about you."

"Okay," the filmmaker said with a quick smile, "But I really have to head back, I haven't been home in a while and I know he's probably ready to tear his hair out with worry."

Mimi nodded and watched as the filmmaker walked down the street. She wished she knew how to solve this complicated problem, but she had no idea what was going on. If only someone would just let her in.

* * *

Roger looked up when the loft door opened. He felt a sense of relief wash over him when he saw Mark walk in.

"Where have you been?" he asked, hoping that there would be no awkwardness.

"Just walking around," the filmmaker answered with a wary smile, "I'm going to get some sleep. I've been out all night."

"Do you want anything?" Roger asked, hopefully, wanting to sit down and actually do something about the situation, but not knowing how to get into it, "Tea, maybe?"

"No, I'm fine," Mark answered as he reached into his bag. He pulled out a familiar orange bottle and placed it on the coffee table, "I got you a refill. I know you're going to run out in a few days."

"You have the money for it already?"

"Yeah."

"Mark, listen…"

"Can we talk later? I'm really tired."

"Oh, okay."

And Roger watches as Mark walked into his room. He gave a sigh as he tried to occupy himself again, this time hoping to finish playing through Musetta's Waltz flawlessly.

* * *

Mark closed his door quietly before walking to his bed and setting his bag down. He pulled off his jacket and sighed as he sat down on his bed, opening his bag to take out his camera and the items that he had purchased earlier.

He really hadn't lied to Mimi when he said that he had gotten AZT for Roger. He just didn't tell her that he had picked up a bottle of sleeping pills for himself.

_Maybe this time no one will walk in on me,_ he thought as he turned the bottle in his hand. When he had slit his wrist, Collins had walked in on him. He remembered his friend being worried and almost hysterical. He remembered the feel of a towel being pressed to the cut to stop the bleeding. He remembered Collins asking him why he wanted to give up his life.

_Maybe this time I won't fail_, he thought, his heart racing in his chest. The only problem was: he didn't want to go through with it.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Another cliffhanger, sorta. Yes, I know. I am totally awful! I'm sorry! Please forgive me?

Please leave a review and let me know what you think, I really appreciate it. Thank you so much for readingand please stay tuned for the next part.


	13. Chapter 12

**Author's Note:** Man I was so upset earlier when they wouldn't let me upload this. It was crazy! Thank you guys so much for reviewing! And a big thanks to Cimmerian Sorceressfor pointing out that anonymous review option wasn't turned on. I really had no idea that it was disabled. So now you guys can review without being signed in! Yay! Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Twelve:**

Mimi stood, hesitant to knock on the door, not knowing who would answer. She didn't know if she could face Roger, but she knew she could face Mark. Mark was always forgiving and welcoming and that was one of the biggest reasons why she was always so at ease around him. She could do no wrong around Mark. Roger, on the other hand, was less predictable and harder to deal with. He had a temper and was so quick to change his opinion about someone that Mimi wondered how anyone stayed friends with him long enough to care for him.

_Mark did it,_ she told herself, _He must have changed him, somehow._ She couldn't help the jealousy that she felt when she realized that she wasn't the one that changed Roger or even made him a better person. He had changed far before she had even walked into his life, she just brought the spark back in.

All she wanted to do was talk to Roger and find out what was going on. Maybe even get Mark to say something in the process. She hated being left in the dark and she needed this. She wanted to save the shaky relationship she had with Roger. _God, why is this so hard?_ She asked herself as she took a deep breath and knocked on the loft door.

No sounds came and she tried again, knocking a little louder.

The sound of shuffling could be heard. A pause. Then she heard footsteps making their way toward the door. The door slid opened to reveal Roger, who looked surprised by Mimi's appearance.

"Mimi?" Roger asked, "What are you doing here?"

"I really want to talk to you guys," the dancer answered, "I just, I don't want to be left in the dark anymore."

"Mimi…"

"Please, Roger, I need to know what's been going on. It really hurts to not know the truth."

Mimi saw Roger finch at those words. The musician slowly nodded and motioned for her to get inside. She did so and she stood there, awkwardly, not knowing what to do for the first time in a long time.

"Let me get, Mark," Roger said, quietly, "He'll need to be here if you want the whole story. Just… just keep in mind that it's his choice to do this. Not mine."

"Alright," Mimi replied.

When Roger disappeared into Mark's room, she stood there, alone, wondering what she would find out. She had been waiting for something to give her a hint as to what had happened. Maybe she could get it out of them this time around. Maybe she wouldn't be kept in the dark anymore.

"Mimi!" Roger's voice startled the dancer and caused her to run to him.

At Mark's door, she could see the musician on the bed, leaning over the filmmaker, who wasn't moving. No matter what Roger did, Mark didn't move and wouldn't wake. She jumped when Roger slapped the other man, trying to get a response, any sign that he would come to.

"Call an ambulance!" Roger exclaimed, "Now!"

Before she could move, something fell from the bed and rolled in her direction. The momentum stopped when the object hit her boot. She slowly bent down and picked it up, her eyes scanning over the clean, new label. Pills. Sleeping pills.

The bottle was empty.

_The rattling I heard in his bag_, she thought, feeling her heart drop to her stomach. She finally understood why Mark told her he wouldn't be buying film for a long while to come.

"Mimi! Call an ambulance!"

* * *

Benny looked up at the hospital building that loomed over him and sighed. It had been a long time since he was put into this position. In fact, he almost convinced himself that he would never hear from his old bohemian friends again. Now, it seemed they needed him for a far bigger reason than just rent or AZT. They needed him to be there to help a friend.

_What'd you do to yourself, Mark?_ He wondered as he stepped into the hospital. He asked the nurse at the registration desk where to find Mark Cohen and was instantly pointed to the second floor. It seemed that it wasn't the first time she had to point someone in the right direction that night.

He rode the elevator up and was thankful for the fact that he was alone. It gave him just enough time to gather himself and to reflect on an incident a few years ago that was too similar to this one for comfort. He remembered when Collins had called him in a near panic.

"_Collins? Is that you?" Benny asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he got out of bed. He didn't want to disturb his fiancé, soon to be wife, and walked out of the bedroom into the livingroom of her apartment, "What's wrong?"_

"_It's Mark," Collins explained, sounding distressed, "He's been taken to the hospital."_

"_What?" Benny tried to keep the volume of his voice down, "What happened?"_

_There was a long pause on the other end, "He tried to kill himself, Ben."_

_Benny felt his heart skip a beat. Mark? Of all the people that he knew, he thought that Roger would be the first to commit suicide before Mark would even think of taking his own life._

"_But... I don't get it." Benny tried to find the right words, something, anything to make the situation make sense._

"_I don't either," Collins answered and Benny could tell that he was lying, "You'll have to ask him yourself. But please, come down to the hospital and help me out. I have to keep an eye on Roger and Mark need someone to be there. We need you. He needs you, right now, as a friend."_

"_I'll be there as soon as possible."_

It was frightening to get a call that was almost identical that evening. The only difference was that Roger was the one that was calling, meaning he had to have been very desperate. The fact that Roger called made Benny listen. It meant that something was terribly wrong.

Benny braced himself as he stepped off the elevator and walked toward the room number the nurse had given him. Before he could get very far down the corridor, he could see his friends sitting, waiting, and silent. It was a sight that was hard to see from a group that was normally so lively.

"Benny?" Maureen asked when she saw him approaching.

"How is he?" he asked, not wanting to start a confrontation with the diva at a moment like this, "What did the doctors say?"

"They don't know if he's going to wake up," Mimi said, softly.

"What happened?"

"He swallowed an entire bottle of sleeping pills," the dancer answered, "They pumped his stomach said his body hadn't digested all the pills when he was brought in. But the fact that all that shit is still in his system… They said it's put him in a coma and they don't know when he'll come out of it."

Benny found the information hard to digest. He knew that he hadn't been very close to any of them lately, but Mark, Mark always held a special place in his heart no matter how distant they got. They were college buddies and good friends. In fact, they were best friends before Roger came into the picture. And even though he abandoned all his bohemian beliefs, Mark really did give him a chance to rejoin the group.

"Where's Roger and Joanne?" he asked, noticing that two of them was missing.

"Roger's in there," Collins answered, pointing to the door to Mark's hospital room, "And Joanne went to the cafeteria to get some food and drinks for us."

"Do you…" Benny hesitated, "Do you think I can see him, alone?"

"You don't have to ask," Maureen said quietly, her voice shaky and her tone one rarely heard, "I'm sure he'd love to have you see him. He was always a sucker for his friends."

Benny nodded and quietly knocked on the door before pushing it open. The room was dark, but it was no surprise. It was Roger that was in there after all.

The musician looked up from his place by Mark's bed, "Benny?"

"Yeah, it's me," he answered as he stepped closer. He saw that Roger was holding Mark's hand, "How are you holding up?"

"I don't know," Roger answered.

"Think I can have a moment with him?" Benny asked, trying to sound as gentle as possible.

The musician simply nodded, but was slow to let go of Mark's hand. Benny remained standing until he heard the door click shut. Sighing, he took the seat that Roger had previously occupied. He placed his hand on Mark's arm, smiling at the contrast that their skin presented. It was one of those things that their friends in college would tease them about, Mark being so pale and Benny being so dark. Polar opposites. It seemed that it was true.

Benny closed his eyes and took in the silence, wondering if Mark really forgave him for picking success over his dream of being an actor.

"Hey, Mark," he said softly, his hand squeezing the filmmaker's arm reassuringly, hoping that the gesture was felt, "I know I haven't been around lately, but I knew I had to come see you when Roger called, that call scared the shit out of me. It really did."

He took a deep breath before continuing, "Why would you do this to yourself, again? Didn't the first time prove that people cared about you and wanted you around? Did it teach you that life was worth living even if you don't get what you want? Cause you can't throw away all that talent and passion, Mark. You can't.

You used to drive me, you know? When we were in college and you showed me all your screenplays, I wished I had half as much drive as you to achieve my dreams. I loved being in your films and I loved all your encouragement. The fact that you came out to New York and looked for me made me believe that maybe I can achieve my own dreams."

Too bad I took the easy way out. I'm sorry I left you guys behind, but I can help more this way. I can help you guys out, maybe even play the bad guy once in a while. I just didn't want to get this call. This was one of the last calls I wanted because it is the most painful thing to swallow. This hurts Mark. It really does."

I know I don't know why you did it, but I have a pretty good idea. Maybe it was Roger all over again or maybe life has just gotten too hard, but don't know the full story because you never told me. But please, don't give up and let your films and efforts go unnoticed. We need someone like you to let us see that no matter how down on our luck we are we can still do great things. We need you to hold us together, as a family. I-I need you to be here for me too. To be my anchor that keeps me grounded to reality. To be that spark of hope that there are better people in this world than those selfish bastards in the corporate world."

Benny took a deep breath and wiped away the tears he hadn't realized that he had been shedding. Sitting there was heart wrenching. He never wanted to see Mark in a hospital bed again, but here he was, hoping his friend would get his message.

"Please, don't give up."

* * *

Joanne had never seen Maureen so quiet before and it worried her as she held the performer in her arms. She ran a hand soothingly through the other woman's hair and tried to whisper comforting words into her ear, but it seemed that the act was empty when she couldn't even comfort herself.

It was hard to be part of something so big and so sad. She had heard that this wasn't the first time some of them were experiencing this. In fact, Maureen was absolutely livid the day she found out that she hadn't been a part of something so big in the past. Now it seemed that the diva wished that it hadn't happened. It wasn't as exciting or dramatic as the movies made it out to be.

"You should get some sleep," Joanne said, softly.

"No," Maureen shook her head, "I'm okay."

Joanne just wished she knew what to do. Mark was always good at doing things like these. He was able to talk to them and listen and she found that he was so good at it that sometimes people forget why they were talking to him or even why they were unhappy in the first place. He did a great job consoling them when Angel died, reminding them that Angel would have wanted them to be happy. It was death, but they still had to celebrate life.

It seemed no one else in their group of friends that that kind of effect on them. It was unsettling.

What would they do if Mark didn't survive? Just what would they do?

* * *

**Author's Note:** Who saw that coming? Who didn't and think I'm evil for doing this? I'm sorry if I scared anyone, really. I swear I won't do too many more drastic and overly dramatic things. It's just how I am. I get a little worked up. But hey, Benny made an apperance at last! Who else was wondering where the hell this guy was? I really hope you guys enjoyed this.

Thank you for reading and please leave a review! Next part will be up soon, hopefully.


	14. Chapter 13

**Author's Note:** He guys, sorry about the long delay. My work schedule and a rather sudden vacation side tracked me. I'm all rested and feeling great now. I'm working less hours, meaning I'll be able to regularly update this. Hopefully that means I can do it once every two or three days, hopefully less. I have a lot planned for this story and I know where to head with it. Hopefully I haven't left anyone hanging.

By the way, over 90 reviews! I love you guys! And just to butcher a Hedwig quote: "Are you becoming a fan of me? You know why I ask, cause I find that I am certainly becoming a fan of you!"

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen:**

Roger sat outside of the hospital, on one of the uncomfortable benches, sipping a cup of hot coffee. He didn't feel like going back inside yet, afraid that he would feel everything cave in on him if he did. The complete and utter feeling of helplessness was overwhelming. There was nothing he could do.

"Mind if I sit?" the musician looked up to see Benny standing next to the bench. He gave a small nod before fixing his eyes on his coffee again.

"Thanks for coming," Roger said quietly, "Really."

"I would have came if the world was ending," Benny said with a small laugh.

They lapsed into silence, not knowing what to say to each other. They hadn't been very close since the day that Benny got married and it seemed that over the years the rift just got bigger and bigger.

"You're not doing well, are you?" Benny asked.

Roger gave a short, wary laugh, "How can I possibly be okay when my friend is lying in there?"

"You can be if you'd just think about what he wants."

"And what would he have wanted Benny?" Roger asked, his voice rising a little, not knowing how to react aside from anger when faced with his old friend.

"He would have wanted you to not worry about him, take your AZT, and take care of yourself," Benny answered, "You know as well as I do that that's true."

And the musician knew it was. Mark tried so hard to take care of others that it was as if that was all he knew. His own well-being came second to those around him, even his own needs for the essentials. Roger remembered the winter that Mimi was brought back in from the streets. Mark had given up all of his blankets just to keep her warm and forgot all about himself. Roger had walked into Mark's room to find the filmmaker shivering in his sleep, trying to pull his worn jacket tighter around himself.

"Why are you trying to make me feel better at a time like this?" Roger asked, facing Benny, "I haven't done anything even slightly nice to you for years."

"I'm still your friend," Benny answered, "And Mark would want me to make sure that you're not drowning yourself in your own thoughts. And before you even try to deny what you've been doing for the past hour, you should know that I know you better than you think and I know how Mark is and how he would react if it were someone else in his place."

"I still think you're an ass for trying to kick us out."

"And I still think you're a jerk for not giving Alison a chance when I married her."

"I can stop calling her Muffy if it makes you feel better."

And they laughed, really laughed. A small glimmer of hope in a long tunnel of darkness.

* * *

"Hey, baby," Collins said with a smile as he laid his fingers on Angel's tombstone. The cool surface welcoming and reassuring beneath his fingertips, "It's been a while since I've seen you and I'm sorry. I've just been so busy with work. And now, this whole thing with Mark…"

The professor took a breath before starting again, "You were always able to make him feel accepted and happy whenever he got down. You always knew hoe to lift people's spirits, but we failed at seeing what should have been right in front of our eyes. I'm sorry I didn't take better care of him, Angel.

"I know he might be with your or stuck somewhere in the ether, but if you see him and he's still deciding to head toward you or not, please let him know that we need him here too. You know it's not his time. He has so much to do still, to accomplish. Please send him back."

And for the first time in a long time, Collins realized that he was crying.

"I'm sorry, baby," Collins said with a weak smile, "This is just harder than I thought. If he survives, what are we going to do? Half of us are leaving him behind and he'll feel exactly how we feel when we're lying there and he has to say goodbye. He'll have to feel the pain he felt when you left. And how can we, I, do that to him?

"How long can I hold on for? Another year or two? Maybe less? I can't stay forever and we both know that. Neither can Roger and Mimi even with all the advances they're talking about, our time will come. I know, in my heart that I can't stay around for long.

"So, what do I do Angel?"

The late night breeze was his only answer.

* * *

Joanne stood in the doorway of Mark's hospital room, watching as Maureen whispered to the filmmaker, softly laughing and crying at her own words.

"…and remember when you started dancing on the tables at the Life? I want to see you do that again, one day. And you promised you'd make it to my next protest. You never break your promises, so don't break this one," Maureen whispered, trying so hard to sound light hearted that Joanne could feel herself on the verge of tears.

The lawyer stepped into the room and placed a hand on Maureen's shoulder, gently rubbing it, "Come on, honey bear, let's go home and get some rest."

"Can't we stay?" the diva asked, not turning away from Mark, "Roger got a room here, maybe we can too."

"Mo, Roger is a different story," Joanne said, "I know we're Mark's friends too, but we can't all stay here."

"I just don't understand why this happened," Maureen whispered, "Everything was going so well. We were happy. I thought he was happy. I thought we could make it another few years without another hospital visit."

Joanne knew that their visits to the hospital would become more and more frequent as the years wore on. With more than half of their extended family being sick, she knew that eventually, the walls that held so much death would become like a second home to them all.

"Is it really so much to ask for?" the diva asked, "A nice, long calm?"

"We can't control these things."

"I know. I know. It's just… so hard."

"Let's go home and get some rest."

Maureen nodded before leaning over Mark and placing a kiss in his forehead. It was a loving gesture one that Joanne knew took a lot of effort to do. The diva swept back the filmmaker's and trailed her hand down his face.

"We'll be back tomorrow," Maureen said, softly, "Good night, Mark."

Joanne stood by Mark's bedside as Maureen walked out of the room. She normally would have followed, but she felt that one last moment alone with the filmmaker was necessary.

"Good night, Mark," Joanne said with a weak smile before leaving.

* * *

"_Mark, what are you doing?" Mimi asked with a laugh as the filmmaker crawled into his crowded closet._

"_Hang on a second," Mark said as he threw a few things out of the closet. The dancer had to dodge a few items of clothing, including a worn shoe and a container for film. "Here it is!"_

"_What'd you find in there?" the dancer asked, leaning forward to get a better look._

_Mark sat on the floor, holding a small wooden box in his lap. He opened it and pulled out a few folded up dollar bills. Mimi's eyes widened when she realized just how much money was there._

"_How did you get that much cash?" the dancer asked, kneeling down beside the older man._

"_I've been saving whenever I could," Mark answered, "A lot of this is from a while back. Call it a rainy day fund."_

"_Jesus, that's a lot of money."_

"_Yeah, but still not enough," the filmmaker sighed._

"_Not enough for what?"_

_Mark looked at Mimi with a disappointed glimmer in his eyes, "Well, I know that you had been planning to get Roger that new electric guitar he had been drooling over for the past few months. It'll be the perfect birthday present for him and there still isn't enough in here."_

_It took Mimi a moment to process what Mark had just said, "No, no, no Mark. There is no way I can do that with your money."_

"_But you have to!" Mark exclaimed, "His birthday will be coming up in a few months and maybe by then we'll have enough."_

"_It's not fair to you."_

"_Just call it a joint present."_

"_It's your money, Mark."_

"_It was your idea."_

"_That's not fair."_

"_Mimi, promise me you'll get him that guitar."_

_The dancer shook her head, "No way, I am not taking your money."_

"_Mimi, please? As a favor to me?"_

"_No, there would be no way for me to pay you back!"_

"_Pay me back by making him happy!" Mark pushed the folded bills into her hands, "Please. He deserves it."_

"_Mark…"_

"_Mimi, I've been a part of Roger's life for so long that it really isn't expected of me to get him anything. I got him a guitar case a few years back when he really needed one and he paid for the repair of my camera a while ago when it wouldn't work. You really want to get him this and he's wanted it for a while. I'm just helping out."_

"_Mark…"_

"_Mimi, please. It's the only thing I'll ever ask of you. Just take the money and get him that guitar."_

"_I'll think about it."_

_And Mark smiled._

"I got the guitar," Mimi said quietly as she took hold of Mark's hand. "It's sitting in the back of my closet, just waiting for his birthday to come along. You're going to hate me, but I made sure the card said that it's from both of us. I know it's not exactly what you wanted me to do, but you know me. I never play by the rules."

The dancer took a deep breath before starting again, "I'm sorry about my behavior lately. I've just been so worked up and so ready to blame everything on you. I'm sorry."

She sat there, stroking his hand, silently sending a prayer to anyone listening to bring him back. She hoped that Angel could hear her. _You gave me a second chance at life. Please do the same for him._

* * *

**Author's Note:** That was so short! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! The next one will be longer. The vacation really gave me no room to write, but now that I am back it'll be better. Hopefully. Thank you guys so much for being so good about this and not ripping my head off. Well, if you want to, please refrain til I finish the story at least. Please?

Please let me know what you think and until next time. Thank you!


	15. Chapter 14

**Author's Note:** Wow, you guys are totally awesome and totally made my entire week by giving me all your wonderful reviews. Thank you guys so very much.

And simply because the review was so long, I have to say Sargent Snarky: Your review was probably two pages long on word document, but I throughly enjoyed reading it. It gave me a lot of great insight and it also reflected a lot of my own views. Thank you for the read, it was very nice.

To those that have always left a review and have always been lengthy, I just want to say that I always, always enjoy reading reviews no matter what length. They always make me smile and make me happy. Thank you guys for them.

And we made it to over 100 reviews! Thank you guys a hunderd times over for that. It made me very happy.

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen:**

Joanne sat by Mark's bedside, holding the filmmaker's hand in hers. The action was a reassurance. She knew that as long as she felt that Mark was physically there, it meant that there was hope. And hope was beginning to fade within the group as the fourth day of waiting rolled around.

"You have some nerve to do this, you know that?" Joanne started, her tone playful but filled with sadness, "You never were good with talking about how you felt, Maureen told me that. But you didn't have to do this."

The lawyer could feel tears stinging her eyes as she straightened herself in her seat. She had been holding the words, the anger back for so many days that it was becoming harder and harder to keep her composure. Between trying to look after her girlfriend and her friends, there was no time for herself and no time for her own emotions to set in. Now that Maureen was finally calm and able to take care of herself, Joanne took the opportunity to have her own time alone with the filmmaker.

She just didn't expect her emotions to get the best of her.

"We're all here for you," she said, feeling all the hurt start to spill forth. "So, why did you come to any of us? I told you that you could come and talk to me. It wasn't a problem!"

_How can this hurt so much?_ She asked herself as she wiped away the tears that had started to cascade down her face. She didn't know if it was the fact that she felt helpless for not being able to help Mark when he was able to help her or the fact that Mark didn't seem to be able to talk to her. They were friends, they were supposed to trust and support each other. So where was she?

"I'm sorry I couldn't help you. But you shouldn't have done this."

_Where the hell were we all?_ She wondered.

"You are such an idiot!"

_We should have paid more attention to him._

And Joanne squeezed Mark's hand as she lowered her head, trying to regain her composure. Then she felt it.

Mark's fingers twitched.

"Mark?" Joanne whispered, her breath catching in her throat as she rose from her seat, leaning over the filmmaker.

His head moved and slowly, his eyelids opened.

"Mark?" Joanne asked again, feeling a wave of relief wash over her.

"Joanne?" the filmmaker asked, his voice hoarse and just below a whisper.

"I'm going to get a doctor," the lawyer said, squeezing Mark's hand, "Just… just don't do anything."

As she turned to leave, Mark spoke again, "I am not an idiot…"

And Joanne gave a soft laugh before heading out of the room to grab the next doctor she saw.

* * *

Roger paced outside of Mark's door, not knowing what else to do. Joanne had gotten him, telling him that Mark was awake. However, he couldn't walk into that room. Doctors were still examining Mark to make sure that he was alright and Roger, himself, felt nervous. He didn't know how to face his roommate, especially since he had yet to get over what had happened before this incident.

_What do I say to him?_ He asked himself as he clasped and unclasped his hands. _How do I even start a conversation?_

"Hey, have the doctors said anything?" Joanne asked as she walked up to the musician.

"Huh?" Roger shook himself out of his thoughts, "No, no… they're still looking him over."

"Are you okay?"

"Just… don't know what to do."

"Just talk to him."

Roger nodded, but he really didn't know how to even begin talking to Mark. _What do you say to your best friend who's in love with you? _Roger asked himself_. What do you say to someone that tried to commit suicide? 'Hey, how was your coma?' That's stupid!_

"I called Maureen, Collins, and Benny," Joanne said, "I thought about waking up Mimi, but she's been getting only as much sleep as you have."

"Yeah, she should keep resting," Roger said, not quite listening to what the lawyer was saying. It was as if he was on autopilot, he just couldn't bring himself to fully focus.

"Hey," Roger looked over at Joanne who laid a hand on his shoulder, "It'll be okay."

The door to Mark's room opened and a doctor and nurse walked out, carting a table of supplies with them. The doctor smiled at the two standing in the hall.

"I'm happy to say that Mr. Cohen is doing well. We'll be keeping him for observation for another day or two, just to make sure that everything is alright." The doctor said in a friendly tone, "However, I want to recommend therapy."

"Therapy?" Roger asked, furrowing his brows in confusion.

"Mr. Cohen tried to take his life. He'll have to seek professional help."

"But--"

Joanne cut Roger off before he could say anymore, "Thank you, doctor. For letting us know. If you could just give us a number or perhaps something to help us understand this whole process more, it'd be wonderful."

"Of course, I'll have the nurse hand them to you when Mr. Cohen signs his release forms."

"Thank you."

As the doctor walked away, Roger turned to Joanne, "You can't be serious about sending him to therapy."

"It's his choice," the lawyer answered, "I just had to make it seem like we would actually do something. Doctors can be pushy."

"Oh."

Roger fell silent again, wondering what his next move would be. Could he actually face Mark now that he was awake?

"Are you going to go in?" Joanne asked, giving Roger a gentle push, "Or are you scared that you're freeze up?"

"I just-just don't know what to do," the musician answered. He shook his head and turned away from the room, "I can't! I can't--"

Joanne's hand gripping his shoulder tight made him look at her. Her features were calm, but he could see a fire burning in her eyes, "Don't walk away from him again."

"You don't understand…"

"Then help me understand! You act like you're the only one going through something right now! But you're not!"

Roger shook his head and shrugged off Joanne. He knew he should be walking into Mark's room to talk to him, to try and understand what happened, but he couldn't do it. He was scared and the thought of confronting his best friend was the one of the most terrifying things he could think of at the moment.

So he did the only thing he knew to do.

He walked away.

* * *

Joanne didn't understand how something so simple could make her feel so angry. She could truly say that she hated Roger Davis at the moment. She couldn't understand how someone simply walked away from a friend, especially one that had just survived a suicide attempt. _What is wrong with him?_ She asked herself as she stepped into Mark's room. She was the only one there at the moment and knew that she had to be the one to talk to the filmmaker.

"Hey, Mark," Joanne greeted with a weak smile as she approached the bed.

"I heard shouting," Mark said, his voice still raspy from not having been used for days.

The lawyer sat down in the chair next to the filmmaker's bed, "Yeah, there was some commotion in the hall."

"I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?"

"I can never do anything right…"

"Mark…"

"I'm sorry for making you worry," Mark said, tears welling up in his eyes, "I really thought I'd do something right this time."

"No, Mark. No, no, no, don't say that," Joanne tried as she took Mark's hand into her own, "Don't you dare say that."

"I don't know what to do. I just don't."

And Joanne didn't know what to say as she leaned forward and pulled Mark into her arms, hugging him, holding him to let him know that she was there. There was something desperate in the embrace, a part of her wanting to extend the kind of support that she had received from the filmmaker.

"We'll work through this," she said, softly, not knowing what else to do.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Okay, so this was short, but the only reason is because the progression of the story is making it so. I couldn't quite fit the next train of thought into this chapter. Have you ever just had something you really wanted to add to chapter but knew that it would make more sene in another chapter? yeah, that's how I felt with this chapter.

Thank you guys so so so much for reading and please feel free to leave some feedback, anything. Hell, tell me how your day was. Thank you guys so much. Til next time!


	16. Chapter 15

**Author's Note:** Hey guys, thank you so much for your awesome reviews. It made me feel better since my week hasn't been going very well. Apparently there is a possibility of a few people being laid off at my job. I've been depressed about that and, frankly, a bit scared that I'll get laid off. I am not happy about that, but reading these reviews really lifts my spirits. At least I know I'm good at something.

Thank you guys so much for reading and staying with this story. Sorry this chapter is so short.

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen:**

Benny stood in the hospital parking lot, leaning against the side of his Range Rover, unsure of what to do. On his way over, he had seen Roger walking down the street. He wasn't able to stop because of traffic, but something told him that what he saw was just a small bit of something far bigger and he knew he was going to confront it if he stepped into that hospital.

Joanne had called him and told him that Mark was awake. That fact alone made him feel relieved, happy, like a large weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He had told Alison that he had to go to the hospital, making sure that his father-in-law knew that he had more pressing matters to attend to than a few building plans.

_What do I do?_ He asked himself as he tapped his fingers against the side of his car. He didn't know if he was ready to walk in there, simply because he knew that Roger was no longer there. _God, if he walked out on his best friend…_ Benny didn't even know how to finish the thought.

_Now or never,_ Benny told himself with a deep breath before heading into the hospital. He had been there enough in the past few days to know his way to Mark's room without having to ask for directions. As he approached his destination, he saw that Mimi was talking to Joanne. By the sounds of their voices, it wasn't a happy conversation.

"I don't know where he went off to," Joanne said with a sigh, crossing her arms, "Sometimes I don't understand him at all!"

"It's not his fault!" Mimi's voice was defensive, "He doesn't know how to react in situations like this. He's just scared."

"Don't you think we are too?" the lawyer retorted, "He has no right to just walk out without an explanation."

"I don't think this yelling is going to help Mark any," Benny spoke up as he stopped beside the two women.

Joanne sighed, "Then it's a good thing he's asleep."

"What happened?" Benny asked, not knowing what to say now that he was standing in an area filled with tension.

"Roger walked out," the lawyer answered, "After I told him not to do that to Mark again. Santa Fe wasn't bad because he said goodbye and we knew he had his reasons, but this… this is just unbelievable."

And Mimi didn't say anything in Roger's defense as she sat down on one of the chairs in the hall.

Benny shook his head and turned to Joanne, "Do you think Mark is up for a visitor?"

"I think we should let him sleep," the lawyer said, "I'm no doctor, but… he was really distressed when he woke up and it took a long time to calm him down."

"What happened?"

Joanne ran a hand through her hair, her eyes squeezing shut as she spoke, "He thinks he's a failure for not being able to commit suicide correctly."

"What?" Benny asked in disbelief, "He can't possibly think that."

"He does. It's like he doesn't understand that we need him or that we're here for him."

"Well, Mark's never really asked for any help in the past," Benny said, "He's always been about the people around him and if he doesn't know how to help them or support them, he'll feel as if he's done something wrong. His empathy…"

"…is his worst enemy." Mimi said softly.

The others turned to her, questioningly.

"He's always so caught up in our problems he forgets about himself and when he does think about himself, he thinks that it's wrong," Mimi explained, "And when we see him worrying about himself for once, we don't process it as that. We think he shouldn't be being selfish…"

Joanne tried to protest, "I don't--"

"No, we do!" the dancer exclaimed, "Don't you dare lie and tell me you've never pushed his problems aside when you needed him to be there for you or Maureen."

"You may have told him to swallow his own problems, but I've actually told him he could come to me when he wants to talk!" Joanne shot back, "I have never seen you do the same!"

Standing there, between the two, Benny could almost sense why the argument was happening. The two had a differing opinion, but it was Mimi's argument that struck him most. Had they all really been so selfish? Benny hadn't been around much lately, but he knew things couldn't have been that bad. At least he hoped that no one had taken Mark for granted.

"I-I just…" Mimi couldn't get the words out and it hit Benny like a train.

Mimi felt guilty.

* * *

_What are you doing?_ Roger asked himself as he stood at the street corner, wondering if he should head back to the hospital or not. He knew he would encounter Joanne's wrath for walking away when she told him to not do so. But he didn't know how to face the problem.

He was Mark's best friend. He liked Mark, but he knew most of it was platonic. It was in a brotherly way. Sure, there was that crush at the very beginning, but it meant nothing now, especially since he had Mimi. He loved Mimi and there was no way he was going to deny that. But that fact alone made him realize that no matter what, he'd be breaking Mark's heart.

_I don't love him,_ Roger told himself. _How the hell do you break that to someone?_

Then there was the suicide attempt. He didn't know if Mark did it because of him or not. He had made the filmmaker drag up painful memories and even more painful emotions. He had walked out on Mark, possibly hurting him in the process. He didn't know if he could face Mark if he was going to be told that he was the cause of the problem.

_But I can't just avoid him forever!_ Roger gave a frustrated sigh before slowly walking back the way he came. With ever step, dread filled him more and more. _Maybe I should just wait until he gets better. Maybe wait until he's out of the hospital. That seems reasonable…_

Stopping in his tracks, Roger contemplated what to do. Then, pulling his jacket tighter around himself, head back toward the loft.

* * *

"He's not here?" Collins asked, "Where'd he go?"

"I don't know," Benny said, "But he hasn't been back for a while. I don't know where he could have run off. Joanne said he looked determined to get away."

"That boy is not making this any easier," the professor said, leaning against the wall, "I hope he knows that."

"He probably doesn't," Benny said with a shake of his head, "He's a little dense."

"Obviously."

The two gave a soft laugh before lapsing into silence again. Benny was about to say something when the sound of footsteps, heavy footsteps headed their way. He looked down the hall to a sight he would not believe.

Maureen was walking down the hall with five teenagers in tow.

The second they got close enough, Benny, in almost disbelief asked, "What are you doing?"

The diva rolled her eyes, "I was getting sick of their messages on my answering machine. 'Mrs. Jefferson, is Mark there?' or 'Mrs. Jefferson, have you seen Mark lately? He hasn't called us and we're getting worried' and 'Mrs. Jefferson, you guys haven't taken Mark to Mexico and buried him in the desert have you?' It was getting annoying!"

"So you decided to bring them here?" Benny asked, his voice going up a pitch or two. He could hear Collins laughing behind him.

"Well, they insisted that I bring them here after I told them what happened," Maureen explained, "You try talking to five teenagers!"

"We're right here!" one of the boys said, "We can hear you!"

"Jason, shut up!" a pink haired girl said, smacking the teen over the head.

"How come you never smack Adrian when he does things like that?" Jason asked, pointing to the blue haired boy that stood next to him.

"Hey, leave me out of this," Adrian raised his hands defensively.

"Alright kids, you're going to have to keep your voices down," Collins was the one that finally spoke up, "Or we're not going to let you see Mark."

The one called Jason actually pouted.

* * *

**Author's Note:** And that was that chapter. Hopefully the next chapter will be longer. And yes, the teens do finally make a reappearance, but I don't think their reappearance might be as good as it should be... who knows, maybe I'm messing with you. Maybe I'm not going to make the next chapter angst filled... maybe I'm just teasing. Now I'm just being mean.

Thank you guys again for reading and please leave a review. Tell me how your day was (I do enjoy reading those) or whatever.


	17. Chapter 16

**Author's Note:** Hey guys, sorry about the late update. I needed to straighten a few things out a work since the last time I wrote. Apparently instead of getting laid off I'll be getting less hours, which is great for me since I can have more of a life in a week or two. 

Thank you guys so much for reading and even more for the wonderful reviews. They mean a lot to me and make me very happy, honestly. Thank you and please enjoy this next chapter.

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen:**

Mark looked up from his position on the hospital bed when he heard the door to his room open. Mimi walked in, smiling at him warmly. And he buried his face in his pillow, not sure if he could handle talking to her, especially since he didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to explain himself. He didn't even know if Roger told her about what he had said.

"Hey Mark, how are you feeling?" Mimi asked, sitting down on the chair that was beside his bed.

"I don't know," Mark answered truthfully, his face still buried in his pillow.

"It's rude to do that, you know," the dancer said, trying to lighten the mood.

The filmmaker slowly looked up from his pillow and swallowed thickly before asking, softly, "How have you been?"

Mimi looked taken aback, "Mark, why are you asking me? You're the one who had the near death experience."

"I'm sorry I screwed things up between you and Roger. I know I was being stupid and selfish, but--"

"Shut up!" Mimi exclaimed, grabbing hold of Mark's hand, "Just…shut up, okay? You're alive. That's all that matters."

"But--"

"We'll figure things out when you're released in a day or two. Unlike Roger, I actually have some common sense."

Mark nodded before asking, "Where is Roger?"

Mimi bit her lip, her hold on Mark's hand tightening. Mark's brows furrowed in confusion. It looked as if Mimi didn't want to tell him something or was trying to work up a good lie.

"Mimi?"

"He's not here," the dancer finally answered.

"What do you mean?"

Mimi bit her lip, unable to stand the look of hurt in Mark's eyes, "Baby, he's not here…"

Mark's voice caught as he asked, "Was he here at all?"

"He was Mark," the dancer tried to explain, "It's just…"

"He couldn't stand to be in the same room with me if I was awake."

"No, no, don't say that. You know that's not true."

Mark shook his head and frantically tried to wipe away the tears that started to trail down his face. He knew he shouldn't have hoped for Roger to be there, not after all that he had said. But he couldn't help but hope because he thought their friendship was stronger than that, better than that.

"Oh, baby, come here," Mimi said, pulling the filmmaker to her and hugging him tight. It was the only thing she knew to do at a time like this.

* * *

"I cannot believe him!" Maureen fumed, pacing outside of Mark's room. She turned on the teens that were sitting in the chairs that lined the wall, "And you guys! None of you should be here right now! You have school and Mark does not need more stress!"

"Lady, calm down," Jason said, rolling his eyes, "We're not going to cause a disturbance. Just ask him if he wants to see us and if he doesn't then we'll just call him when he gets out of the hospital."

Maureen couldn't find the words she was looking for as she tried to digest what Jason had just said. Did a kid really just put her in her place?

"We may be young, but we're not stupid," Jess said, "Well, maybe a little stupid, but we know when to respect people's space. Mark tried to kill himself and we've had more than enough friends who tried the same thing. We know there's going to be a period when they don't want to see people or just plain feel withdrawn."

"They're smarter than they look," Collins said with a shake of his head.

"We're right here," Jason said, annoyed.

Collins smiled and said in a joking tone, "I'm sure you're used to that by now."

"Can someone please ask him if we can see him?" Adrian asked in a politer tone than Jason would have, "I know we're just kids and all, but we care about Mark too."

Before either Maureen or Collins could answer, Mimi walked out of Mark's room and gently closed the door. She turned to the others, a tired and troubling expression on her face.

"Is everything alright?" Collins asked, placing a hand on the dancer's shoulder.

Mimi wiped away the stray tears that had trailed down her face and shook her head, "Fucking Roger. Damn him for just leaving like that."

"What happened?" the professor asked, trying his best to comfort the younger woman.

"He blames himself for everything. God, he thinks Roger doesn't want to see him and he thinks he's a failure for not even being able to end his own life. He just... he doesn't think we want him around and Roger's not making this any better!"

Maureen made a sound of frustration, "Oh, I'm going to kill Roger!"

"Not if I get there first!" all eyes turned to Jason, who stood and walked out, immediately followed by his friends.

"That…didn't sound good," Maureen said as she looked to the others who seemed just as surprised as she was.

* * *

Joanne stuffed her hands in the pockets of her coat as she walked towards the loft. She knew that it was the only place Roger would go and she was going to get him to go back to the hospital come hell or high water. Having seen Mark, she knew that Roger not being there would not be the best thing especially since she had a feeling Roger was part of the problem and what would have to be the solution as well.

As she neared the loft, she heard someone behind her shouting, "Jason! Slow your ass down and get back here!"

The lawyer couldn't help but turn around and see five teenagers running in her direction. She shook her head and stood her ground, waiting for the kids to get closer. This had better be good cause Jason looked pissed and she was in no mood to deal with a moody teenager. That was almost as bad as dealing with Roger.

"Where do you think you guys are going?" Joanne asked when the teens got close enough. She made sure to grab Jason by his arm so he didn't walk right pass her.

"Apparently, Jason is going to kick Roger's ass," Ryan said, "Even though he has no idea what the guy looks like."

"I know what he looks like!" Jason retorted, "Blonde hair, green eyes, leather jacket, typical rocker. There can't be more than one guy that looks like that in that building!"

"What building?" Jess asked.

"Mark's building. I might not know which level he lives on, but I sure as hell know where it is."

"Okay, you need to calm down," Joanne said with a sigh, "And you are not going to look for Roger cause I'm going to see him. And no, you can't see him cause you are angry and you'll make horrible mistakes."

Jason crossed his arms and rolled his eyes, "I'm not going to kill him or anything."

"Right," the lawyer said, skeptical, "I'm going to do the talking. You guys stay behind me and don't say a thing."

The group walked into the building and climbed the stairs to the loft. Joanne knocked on the door and waited for a response. When she didn't get one, she knocked again, this time joined by Jason who not only knocked by kicked at the door as well, which really didn't seem like such a bad idea when they heard someone from the inside telling them to stop knocking.

"What the hell?" Roger asked as he pulled open the door. He gave Joanne a look, "What the hell are you doing with a posse of kids?"

"Can we come in?" the lawyer asked.

The musician gave a sigh, "Fine."

Once everyone was inside and the door closed, Joanne turned on Roger, "What in the world do you think you're doing, Roger?"

"What?"

"You just left the hospital without talking to Mark! You're his best friend Roger, how can you do that to him?"

"Look, I don't want to talk about it, alright?" the musician said with an irritated look, "I'll talk to him when he gets released. It'll be better for him anyway."

"You don't know that!" Joanne argued.

"Well you don't know either!"

"Leaving him there isn't doing him any good!" Jason's voice rose above the adults'.

Joanne and Roger both looked at Jason stunned.

"Who are these kids anyway?" Roger asked once he could speak again.

"Jason," the teen said, "We're the ones Mark had been filming before he went to the hospital and you! You have no idea how much leave him like that is hurting him!"

The musician looked rightfully offended, "You can't say shit like that! You have no idea--"

"He thinks you don't want him around you dumb fuck!" Jason shouted, "You're part of the reason why he tried to off himself and you're not even thinking about his feelings!"

Roger was shocked by the teen's reaction.

"He was right! You always run away when shit hits the fan! You can't even fight that instinct just this once for him! You have no fucking idea how much he loves you! All you can do is run the other way!"

"How…" Roger couldn't find the words, knowing that Joanne was standing right there to hear all of that.

"An idiot could have figured that out," Jason said, glaring a the musician, "Why are you so scared of his feelings anyway? All he wants is for you to be happy. Why else do you think he never told you how he felt?"

Roger shook his head, "Get out. I don't need some kid telling me this shit. You had no right exposing his feelings like that."

"And you have no right to step on them like you do, but you don't seem to give a fuck."

"Jason," Adrian warned as he pulled at the other boy's arm, "Let's just go."

With a shake of his head, Jason pulled out of Adrian's grasp and got right in Roger's face. He was a few inches shorter, but he was confident enough in himself that he wasn't scared of an ex-junkie. He raised his fist as if to hit the older man before slowly dropping it to his side and backing down.

"Let's go." Jason pulled open the door and the teens slowly drifted out of the loft. He turned and said one last thing before departing, "You're such an idiot."

Joanne stood a little stunned by the entire exchange. She had no idea that Mark had had such feelings for Roger or that Roger knew about them. Suddenly a lot was starting to make sense, especially with what had been happening recently. All she needed to do was piece it all together.

With a sigh, she decided that she really didn't have much to say to Roger anymore, "Go see him."

And she walked out, hoping that Roger would make the right choice.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Ha! I bet you didn't see that coming! Okay, I'll admit, Jason is very short tempered when it comes to people he cares about. And Jason knows where Mark lives because he had accompanied Mark home in one of the earlier chapters.

I hope you guys enjoyed that and please let me know what you think, it's be the best part of writing this! Hearing from you guys!


	18. Chapter 17

**Author's Note:** Wow, you guys totally made my morning yesterday. I woke up and I was like, "I should check my mail" and there were a whole bunch of reviews waiting for me. I read every single one and they all made me feel so nice and warm inside. If it doesn't seem like it, I just want you guys to know that I read every single review. Hell, I got a pie out of it P.

Speaking of reviews, man you guys really seem to like Jason. And we're about to hit 150! squees like a little fangirl... I so did not just do that.

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen:**

"Mark, you have to eat something," Maureen said as she pushed a plate of fries in front of the filmmaker's face. She knew that hospital food wasn't the best thing in the world, but she also knew that Mark had to eat. He already ate so little and his body was probably starving for some nutrition. "Pookie, please? For me?"

"Leave me alone, Maureen," Mark said as he turned away from her.

The diva stared at Mark's back, slowly putting the plate down, "You can't keep doing this, Mark. You're alive. You should be happy. You should be taking care of yourself."

The filmmaker didn't respond and Maureen wondered how Mark could possibly act the way he was acting. She had never seen him act like that before. He was always so willing to please that he would do anything. She was always able to get him to help with her sound equipment or film her protests, but now she wasn't even able to get him to eat a few fries. _What do I do?_ She asked herself. _What do I do?_

"I don't know what you're going through right now, Mark," Maureen started, unable to really process the emotions that she was feeling, "I don't even know what's going on. I just… I really want you to get better, be happy again maybe? I want you to be able to talk to me, all of us."

"It's not always about what you want, Maureen," Mark said softly.

"Then what is it that you want?"

"I want… to be left alone…"

Maureen bit her lip before nodding, "Okay. Fine."

Getting up from her seat, the diva walked out of the room and gently closed the door. She breathed in deeply and blinked away the tears that welled up in her eyes. She had never been good with dealing with other people's emotions, especially not Mark's. She hardly ever saw him the way he did back in that room. Mark was always so happy towards her, so warm and friendly. Sometimes he would be sad, but he shrugged it off and kept on smiling. She could deal with that Mark, but she didn't know how to deal with this Mark, this withdrawn, depressed, almost unresponsive person.

Collins had decided to take Mimi for a walk after what had happened earlier. Benny had to return to work, but promised to be back later. Joanne had to talk to her superiors about what was happening and straighten out a case that they had handed her. Maureen felt like she had no one to go to. She was always so ready to talk to Mark, but now Mark wasn't being receptive. And Roger just wasn't an option.

_God, I need a drink_, she told herself as she shook her head and walked away from Mark's room.

* * *

"Hey, are you alright?" Collins asked Mimi as they walked in the courtyard behind the hospital. 

"I don't know what to feel," the dancer answered, "I always thought that something like this would never happen."

"You're talking about Roger, aren't you?" the professor asked as he led them to a bench. Sitting down, he pulled out a joint and held it between his fingers, "Listen, there's a lot you don't know."

"I know that, but no one wants to tell me what. Roger's too busy running off to god knows where and Mark… I can't make him tell me right now. Not like this…"

Collins nodded as he lit up the joint and took a puff. He handed it to the dancer who thankfully took it between her fingers and took a drag. They sat in silence for a while before the professor sighed. He leaned back and looked Mimi, her features showing her frustration and confusion. He prayed that what he did next would be right.

"Mimi, I think I should explain a few things to you." Collins said.

"Do you know something that I don't?" Mimi gave a bitter laugh as she took another drag and handed the joint back to the older man.

"I think I know the reason why Roger walked off."

The dancer shook her head, "Can you tell me? Or is it a big secret?"

"It is a secret, but I think you have the right to know, especially since Roger is your boyfriend and Mark is your friend. I think you're the only one who doesn't know that Mark has tried to commit suicide before."

Mimi's eyes widened, "What?"

"It was a while ago, during the very beginning of Roger's withdrawal," the professor explained, "Roger was taking it really badly, especially with what had happened to April."

"But why would Mark do that to himself?" Mimi asked, "He helped Roger through that didn't he? While you were away at MIT?"

"By the time I left, things had calmed down a lot. Mark could take care of Roger and fend for himself, but before that… things were pretty crazy."

"What happened?"

"If I tell you this story, you'll have to understand that this all happened in the past and just like you, Roger only recently heard it. You can't judge him based on this."

The dancer nodded, "Okay."

"_Shit." Collins cursed under his breath as he ran through the rain, thunder roaring in the distance. He hated thunderstorms. It always made him think of a superstition his friend had told him of. In Asian countries, many believed that if you had done something wrong or sinful the gods would use lightning to strike you down. He had been young when he had been told the story so it scared it and it still stuck with him._

"_Shit," he cursed again as he ducked into the doorway of one of the buildings. He was only a few blocks away, but the rain was coming down so hard he could hardly see. He was already soaked to the bone. He hoped that Mark was doing alright with Roger. He hadn't liked the idea of leaving Mark with a junkie that was detoxing, but the filmmaker had insisted that he go out, maybe grab a drink and relax. He took the suggestion, simply because he knew Mark would make him take a break from looking after Roger sooner or later._

_Collins pulled out the loft key and clutched it in his fist. He would have to thank Mark for being considerate enough to give him the key since he didn't have enough money to use the payphone and he didn't feel like yelling above a storm._

Now or never_, he told himself as he pulled his jacket over his head and ran down the rain slick streets. He pushed his legs to keep going as the rain pounded against him, blurring his vision and chilling him to the core. He made a mental note to add an umbrella to their list of things they needed because this was just ridiculous._

"_Finally," he breathed as he pushed open the door to the building and stepped inside. He dripped all over the place, the stairwell quickly becoming wet with all the rainwater that he carried in with him. _I hope Mark's got a spare towel we can use for the floor, _he thought as he walked towards the loft door._

_As he put the key into the lock his brows furrowed in confusion. He could hear something from inside the loft. It confused him because it didn't sound like a struggle and he knew that when Roger got violent things got broken and Mark got loud, trying to calm Roger down. Unless it was a fight the loft was usually quiet._

_He turned the key and slid the door open. The sight that was revealed to him made his stomach turn and he nearly vomited right then and there._

"What?" Mimi asked when Collins stopped speaking, "Collins, what did you see?"

The professor took a shaky breath before speaking, "They were both on the floor and Roger was strangling Mark."

Mimi's hand went to cover her mouth as she gave a gasp.

"And… uh…"

"What?"

"Roger was…" _Shit._ This was far harder than he had thought it was going to be. "He was between Mark's legs."

Mimi shook her head, "You… you don't mean that Roger…"

"Yeah."

The dancer buried her face in her hands.

"Mark tried to commit suicide three days later," Collins said, knowing that Mimi had to hear the rest of the story to understand the motive. "He slit his wrist and he left behind a note in the bathroom. He said that he was sorry and that… he loved Roger."

Mimi's head shot up, "What?"

"Mark's in love with Roger."

"And Roger knows this?"

"He had just found out the day before Mark was brought to the hospital. He found out everything the night before."

"Oh god," Mimi breathed.

"Are you okay?" Collins asked, worried that telling her was the wrong thing to do.

"I don't know what to think," the dancer answered.

The two sat there, not knowing what else to do. Collins hoped that what he had said shed some light on the situation.

* * *

Roger stood outside of the hospital doors, trying to decide if he could really do what he was about to do. He knew that he wanted to talk to Mark, especially after what that kid Jason had said. _Was leaving really that bad of an idea?_ He asked himself as he crossed the threshold before he lost his nerve. 

He had sat in the loft for a long while after everyone had left and just thought about what had been said to him. He was slow to realize it, but he discovered that he really had been stepping on Mark's feelings or at least playing with them. He had been so caught up in how he felt about the entire situation that he had forgotten about his best friend.

Mark had told him what had happened those years ago, something that was hard to do and then go on to reveal that he had more than just brotherly feelings for his best friend, which was the hardest thing anyone could do especially when their best friend was the same gender as they were. And Roger knew he didn't take into account how badly it hurt Mark to bring up those memories. He also didn't take into account how vulnerable those confessions left Mark.

He hadn't expected Mark to try and commit suicide. Now that he was rethinking everything that he could have done, he regretted walking away from Mark that night. He knew he should have stayed because he wasn't the one that was putting his emotions on the line. He wasn't the one that would get his heart broken. _God, I can be such an idiot sometimes…_

The closer he got toward Mark's room, the worst the feeling of nervousness in his stomach got. It was getting to the point where he wanted to vomit. _Come on Davis!_ He scolded himself. _You can do this! You've performed in from of hundreds of people before._

Standing in front of Mark's door was one of the most frightening things he had ever experienced, simply because he had no idea what was going to greet him. As he reached for the handle, a voice drew his attention away.

"Roger?" Maureen was walking down the hall, surprised by the fact that the musician was standing there. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to see Mark," the musician said, softly, "I just… I want to talk to him and apologize."

"You had better!" the diva exclaimed, smacking the musician's arm hard, "God, you can be so damned dense sometimes!"

"I'm sorry," Roger said, "Is it okay if I talk to him now? Before I lose my nerve?"

"Oh right," Maureen said. And she watched as Roger stood there for a long moment, "Well, go in!"

"I was trying to get ready to face him," Roger said, slightly annoyed.

_Now or never,_ he told himself as he placed his hand on the door handle and turned. He pushed the door open.

The room was empty.

Mark was gone.

* * *

**Author's Note:** You can say it, I'm evil for leaving you guys hanging like that especially since Roger just got up the nerve to go and talk to Mark. Also, the conversation with Collins and Mimi may seem a little out of place, especially since Collins has been guarding the secret so well, but sometimes people make bad judgements. Drama!

Let me know what you think and please... don't kill me for leaving you guys hanging like that. Oh and if you guys spot typos, feel free to point them out so I can correct them. I know I cringe when I catch typos in stories.


	19. Chapter 18

**Author's Note:** Hey guys, sorry about the uber late update, but my life got really hectic. I had a few projects I had to finish and with so many things coming up I got side tracked and then creative block set in. Yeah, I totally suck, but I'm sorry and I'll make it up to you guys somehow! 

To Sargent Snarky: You know, it's funny that you talked about the gender/sex thing. I had a long drawn out discussion before I posted that chapter with a friend of mine. The reason I used "gender" was because it is considered normal to use the term, but also because of the fact that the word "sex" brought on the giggles... my friend decided to beta that chapter and she giggled... a lot, so I changed it to "gender". I'm not saying everyone is immature like her, but seriously, a serious paragraph could have gotten killed by that so I decided to take a safer route. I hope that made sense!

And to everyone: Thank you for reviewing and sticking with this, even if I am evil (you all know I am). Thank you for the awesome reviews that you guys send my way and just the wonderfulness in general. I have the best readers, you guys are quite awesome. And for the new readers, I hope the quality of this keeps up and you enjoy yourselfs just as everyone else does as the story proceeds.

* * *

Chapter Eighteen:

_How did I get here?_ Mark asked himself as he leaned against the safety rail. He was on the roof of the hospital, standing by the raised wall they had put up for safety. The rail was raised and up to his chest, good enough for him to support his own weight since the walk up all those flights of stairs had tired him out.

_I'm so pathetic_, he thought as he sat on the ground and kicked away an empty soda can. He wondered what he was going to do when someone found him up there. He knew that it was a restricted area, but he needed the fresh air and had overheard someone talking about the roof. When he got there, the door had been propped open. It was the perfect place to go on a smoking break or just sit. It was also the perfect for taking a dive. _At least then it'll be permanent,_ he told himself.

He hadn't been able to actually leave the hospital since he couldn't find his clothes and he didn't know how long everyone would be gone for. But it wasn't as if he wanted to run away. He just needed to get out of that room and away from his friends for a while. He couldn't stand it in there. He hated feeling so useless. He didn't want people shoving food in his face or seeing him cry. He hated when people saw him cry.

Mark didn't move from his spot when he heard the roof door opening, the rusted hinges giving off a spine chilling sound.

"Enjoying yourself?" Mark looked up at the familiar voice.

Roger stood there, smiling awkwardly. Mark shook his head and simply chose to ignore the musician.

"One of the nurses looked over the security tape and said you came up here," Roger said, "They, uh, they didn't want me to come up here, but I asked them to give me a bit with you."

Mark stayed silent. How did you speak to someone who couldn't even look at you when you were aware of their presence?

"Look, I'm… I'm sorry I wasn't here. I was just… I was scared." Roger kneeled down and placed his hand on the filmmaker's arm. The other man didn't move, didn't look at him, "What do you want me to say, Mark?"

The silence that took over was overwhelming. Mark found himself wanting to speak, but unable to.

"Can we…at least get off of the roof and get you into some real clothes?" Roger asked, trying to sound light hearted, "A hospital gown isn't exactly flattering."

The filmmaker sighed and shook his head, "You really suck at things like this."

And the musician gave a soft, forced laugh, "Yeah, I know."

* * *

That day, Benny watched as Mark was checked out and lead back to the loft surrounded by his friends. It wasn't a strange sight to see. In fact, Benny had seen it a dozen times before, granted they were with different people, but it was the same image. The reasoning for all the attention was different, but he knew that they all meant well.

The filmmaker hadn't spoken very much. Benny was told that there was an incident that involved the hospital roof. The fact that Mark was alright told him that the situation hadn't been disastrous. Still, a part of him was worried about the silent treatment that they were all getting. It wasn't normal. Or perhaps it was at times like these. He didn't know.

When they arrived at the loft, Mark went straight to his room and shut himself in there. No one stopped him or questioned him, not knowing how to be sensitive with their questions. They didn't want to feel as if they were trying to keep Mark on a short leash because of what had happened.

"Just leave him alone," Roger said, "He'll come out when he's ready."

"When will that be?" Maureen asked sounding slightly irritated.

"Just give him some space," the musician said, "Just trust me on this."

"Do you think it was a good idea to check him out so soon?" Joanne asked, sitting down in one of the worn chairs, "The doctor did want to keep him for another day of observation."

"He says he's fine," Roger argued, "Besides, he didn't want to stay."

"How would you know?" Maureen asked, "You guys didn't even talk."

"I just know… Mark doesn't like hospitals very much. I think him staying there would have just made things worse."

"I think that's the first time you've made sense in a long time," Collins said with a smile.

And they waited, hoping that things would turn out for the best. They hoped that Mark would talk to them and work things out. Unfortunately, they knew that they were all just trying to be optimistic.

* * *

"I'm going to take a shower," Maureen said, pulling her jacket off.

"Alright," Joanne answered as she closed the door behind her, "Take your time, baby."

"I always do," the diva said as she wrapped her arms around the lawyer's waist, "But…it would be nice if you joined me today."

"Maureen," the other woman said with a smile, "You know it gets cramped in there."

"Yeah, but I like being cramped in there with you."

"Why don't you go in first? I have a phone call to make."

"Alright, but if you're not in here in ten minutes, I'm going to enjoy myself alone."

Joanne couldn't help staring after the diva as she walked away, swaying her hips suggestively. She knew she shouldn't think about a proposal like that, especially after all that they have been through the past few days, but she knew that it was Maureen's way of dealing with things. Sex and the feeling of pure enjoyment always made Maureen feel better and Joanne knew that. She didn't mind indulging her lover if it meant that it would bring happiness.

Throwing her jacket onto the couch, she sat down and picked up the phone. Pulling a scrap of paper from her pocket, she looked it over quickly before dialing. The phone rang twice before it was picked up.

"Hello, Jason?"

"Who's this?" the voice on the other end questioned sounding a little out of breath and flustered.

"It's Joanne," the lawyer said with a smile, "Did I interrupt something?"

"Uh…" she could hear the embarrassment in Jason's voice, "Not really."

"I just wanted you to know that Mark was checked out of the hospital today."

"Already? I thought he'd be there a while longer."

"Apparently not."

"Is he doing alright?"

"He's…not really himself."

"Well, the guy almost off-ed himself, I'm sure he needs some space to clear his head."

Joanne sighed, "I want to try convincing him to get professional help, but the cost will go through the roof."

"Don't try convincing him to do anything," Jason said, "It has to be his choice. He has to solve the problem on his own and find it in himself to seek the help he needs or it won't work. He'll just see it as you guys forcing him to get therapy."

"I guess you're right."

"Listen, Joanne, thanks for letting me know that Mark's out of the hospital," Jason's voice went up an octave, shocking Joanne, "But uh… I have to go!"

"Jason?"

"Bye!"

The line clicked before going dead. Joanne stared at the phone for a minute before shaking it off. She had no idea what was going on and she wasn't sure if she wanted to know.

"Pookie! Are you coming?" Maureen's voice drifted out from the bathroom, low and seductive.

Joanne gave a small laugh as she loosened her tie. She knew she'd be crazy to pass this up.

* * *

Roger stood outside of Mark's door, not knowing if he should go in or not. Everyone had left and he was there, alone, trying to gather the same amount of courage that he had back in the hospital. He had never expected it to be so hard to talk to his best friend.

_Shit, get a grip, Davis!_ He scolded himself. Taking a deep breath, he knocked lightly on Mark's door before slowly opening it.

"Mark?" he cautiously pushed the door open and took a step inside, "Everyone left… and I just wanted--"

"I'm trying to sleep, Roger," Mark said from his place on the bed, "Can you come back later?"

"Oh. Alright then…" the musician quietly closed the door and walked back into the livingroom, not quite sure what to think. He still wasn't used to being pushed away like that, especially by someone that was always so willing to talk and ask questions.

_Was this how Mark felt? _Roger wondered, thinking back to all the times that he had refused to talk to Mark or refused his friends request to get out of the loft. He thought of all the times he had gotten angry at Mark for suggesting that they do something other than lounging around the loft and the times that he had closed the door in his friend's face for simply wanting to know what was wrong. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that this was nothing compared to what he had put Mark through in the past.

* * *

Mimi lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, wishing she could see through it and see what Roger was up to. She had left because she knew that Roger would need his space. He had also told her that he wanted to talk to Mark, alone. But the biggest reason why she left was the fact that she didn't know what to say to him.

When Collins had told her the story of what had happened, it had really struck something in her. It made her realize that Roger had done a lot of fucked up things, things she couldn't quite imagine. She had seen Mark and Roger's friendship and what it was like. It was one of the better ones she had seen in her life. Most people would have broken off contact and gone their separate ways the second something bad happened. Yet, somehow, those two had stuck together. Somehow, Mark found it in himself to stay.

_I was wrong,_ she sighed as she rolled onto her side. She thought back to the day that she had slapped Mark and cringed as she recalled her own words.

"_What's so damn hard about your life?" Mimi asked, unable to keep her cool, "You were never a drug addict, you didn't have to go through withdrawal, and you never got HIV or AIDS. Tell me what the hell was so damn bad and important that you had to upset Roger like that! You're going through the same thing we are! You're fucking broke and trying to make a life doing something you love with little to no success! I get it! But you didn't have to take it out on him!"_

"_I never took anything out on him!" Mark yelled back, "You don't know anything, Mimi, so don't judge my life!"_

Mark was right. She really didn't know anything about him. In a way, she was disappointed in herself for not seeing that something was wrong. She was disappointed in herself because she should have talked to Mark instead of losing her temper. But she could never keep herself in check when she got worked up.

Her number one concern was Mark, but following close behind was a sort of anger she couldn't help but feel toward Roger. She couldn't help but wonder what was going through his head to walk out on his best friend after hearing everything.

_So, what do we do?_ She asked herself. _Do we just sit around? What do we do?_

* * *

**Author's Note:** So, what'd you think? I sort of decided that a nice calm, or at least sort of calm was needed since the story has been a bit of a ride in the last few chapters. I've left you with cliffhangers and near deaths and emotions and secret spilling, I think if I kept it up I'd kill a few braincells... and a few people would kill me for being horrible. I'm sorry if this chapter was short, but it was one of those times when you know you have to cut it off or it'll get really stupid.

Also, I didn't have a chance to proof read it, so feel free to point out any mistakes. And please, leave a review and let me know what you think. The next chapter will be longer, I promise!


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